


Six Swans

by loveanddeathandartandtaxes



Category: Fairy Tales and Related Fandoms
Genre: Complete, F/M, Fluff, I'm Bad At Tagging, Magic, Romance, Swans, and hardly anyone has names, fairytale adaptation, fairytales are really short okay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-31
Updated: 2013-04-30
Packaged: 2017-12-07 02:36:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 15
Words: 23,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/743203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loveanddeathandartandtaxes/pseuds/loveanddeathandartandtaxes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>King Richard sends his children into hiding when he is coerced into remarrying. His new wife finds them, however, and it is up to Isabelle to save her brothers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part One

Theresa never fancied that she would marry well. The eldest daughter of a country duke, she had been sent to live with her city-dwelling uncle and aunt, to be introduced at the royal court. She was not yet seventeen, and her cousins, although much the same age as her, took pleasure in teasing her about her uncultured habits. After a few weeks, however, Theresa could hold her own with her cousins, and her aunt decreed she was fit to attend a court ball. She was enjoying herself immensely, and her dance card was quickly filled by handsome young men. While she sipped a glass of fruit juice during a short break, another young man approached her and asked her for the next dance.  
“I’m sorry; I already have a partner for the next set.”  
“The one after that, then.”  
“No, I’ve already been asked to dance for the rest of the night. I’m sorry.”  
“They won’t mind; come on, they’re beginning to line up. Let’s just have one dance.”  
“Sir, I think you are being rude. Excuse me, I can see my partner.”  
She curtseyed slightly and brushed past him to Arthur.  
“I apologise for keeping you waiting. I was…. Detained.”  
“If you don’t want to dance this one with me, that’s fine.”  
“What? No, let’s go.”  
He took her hand and led her to the dance floor just in time for the beginning of the dance.  
“So,” he said as they stepped around each other, “What makes a beautiful young woman like you turn down the prince?”  
“I beg your pardon?”  
“Feel free to flatter me, Miss Theresa, and tell me you wouldn’t miss dancing with me for the world. Of course, if you have some sort of horrible grudge against the royal family, I’m all ears.”  
“Arthur, I have no idea what you are talking about.”  
“The prince. When you were talking to him earlier, he asked you to dance, didn’t he?”  
Theresa gaped and nearly missed her next steps.  
“Was that the _prince_?” she whispered. “Oh no. I called him rude… he won’t be mad, will he?”  
Arthur smiled comfortingly.  
“Just jealous. Don’t worry.”

Later in the night, the prince approached her again. She curtseyed as low as she could without wobbling.  
“Your highness,” she said demurely.  
“Oh, no. I was looking for a young lady who was much more forward than that. I’m sorry, I was mistaken.”  
She arched an eyebrow.  
“Your only mistake was not introducing yourself, Sir, and assuming I would go back on my word to someone.”  
“Ah, it is you! Good, good.” He took her hand and raised it to his lips. “I am Richard.”  
“Theresa, your highness.”  
“Are you new in town, Miss Theresa?”  
“I arrived not four weeks ago, Sir.”  
“Have you been here before?”  
“Never. I grew up on the south coast,” she volunteered.  
“Ah! So far away. It’s fantastic there, but I haven’t been in years. May I visit?”  
“Your highness could do anything he wishes,” she answered coolly.  
“However, I doubt I should be there.”  
The prince expressed his confusion.  
“I’ve been sent here to get married, Sir.”  
“Oh, you’re engaged? Congratulations.”  
Theresa laughed wryly, and Richard grinned.  
“No, but my family hopes I will be soon.”  
He nodded in understanding as the musicians took their places to begin playing the last set of dances. Theresa excused herself.

~~~~

She sighed when the prince saw her at the next royal ball she attended.  
“Let’s go through to the next room and sit down,” she suggested to her cousin.  
“No, the prince is coming this way! He might say hello to us.”  
“I know. Please can’t we go to the next room?”  
Dionn looked at her strangely, and then Richard was upon them.  
“Miss Theresa,” he said, bowing. “I do not believe I have had the pleasure of meeting your friend.”  
“Your highness, this is Dionn, my cousin. I am staying with her family while I am in town.”  
“Miss Dionn,” the prince said, and she blushed hard.  
“Was there something we could help you with, your highness?”  
“There is, Miss Theresa. Have I come upon you early enough to ask for a dance?”  
“Indeed, Sir; we have only just arrived.”  
“Brilliant. I demand at least three dances.”  
“Very well. Dionn and I will each dance with you twice, and then you will have four.”  
He could not argue with her, so he reluctantly accepted.

Dionn pulled her into a corner later.  
“Do you have any idea how rude you were to Prince Richard?”  
“Oh, yes. I know precisely. But I also know he cannot really fault me. I am absolutely determined to be rid of him bothering me; his manner vexes me.”

He kissed her hand when he found her for their first dance.  
“Did I apologise, last time, for how I acted? I’m sorry for not introducing myself. I am used to being recognized.”  
“You did not, Sir.”  
“I’m sorry, Theresa.”  
The familiar use of her name threw her off her guard and made her look at him.  
“Oh… Well, if that’s the case, I’m sorry for being cold.”  
They danced silently, catching glances at the other but avoiding eye contact.  
“Do you have plans for the day after tomorrow?” Richard asked abruptly,  
“I do not believe so.”  
“Will you take a walk with my sisters and me around the gardens? “  
“Well, yes, I suppose so. Do… do your sisters like drawing?”  
“Very much.”  
“Lovely! Perhaps they and I can sketch, while on our walk.”  
“I’m sure that would be very good. Will you come here after lunch?”  
“Alright.”

~~~~

Theresa had not known that Richard’s three sisters were very much younger than he was. Ariana was twelve, while the twins, Sophia and Beatrice, were “nearly ten”. They each carried a small bag with drawing paper and charcoal packed neatly inside.  
“Sir, I think you have been leading me on,” she said quietly to Richard. “I did not know the age of your sisters; I imagined them to be at least as old as I am.”  
He laughed. “I thought everyone knew everything about my family! It’s nice to know that I can surprise you.”  
“Nevertheless, I am sure we shall all have a lovely time.”   
She proposed to the girls that they stop where they were to draw for a while, as there were benches to sit on.  
“How goes the search for a husband?” he asked her as she drew.  
“I am in no hurry, but I can’t say the same for my aunt. She is absolutely determined to have me married as soon as possible.” She would have told him more, but Sophia approached her, wanting a critique on her sketch.

She had another opportunity as they continued walking.  
“We have a guest to dinner almost every night, unless we are to dine out with someone else, of course. I have recently told her absolutely that I will entertain no more suitors past the age of thirty-two, which upset her greatly. However, I was determined.”  
“Why thirty-two, exactly, as your limit?”  
“I thought that a man twice my age is plenty old enough; any older is not for me.”  
He conceded her point.  
“And then there are some who are only my age or a little older, but I can’t hold a conversation with them for two minutes.”  
“I find the same with many girls your age,” Richard said.  
“You talk well enough with me,” she told him.  
“I think that is more a comment on you, than me,” he explained. She smiled graciously.  
“Will you come to dinner with us tonight, Miss Theresa?”  
She hesitated, and Richard's sisters piped up.  
“Is Miss Theresa coming to dinner?”  
“Are you coming to dinner, Miss Theresa?”  
“Yes, she has to come, Richard!”  
Theresa looked at Richard, who shrugged, smiling.  
“I would like that very much, girls. I’ll have to let my relatives know, though.”  
“That’s no problem!” Ariana exclaimed. “We will send a message to them on a horseman!”

“You don’t have any _more_ sisters or brothers, do you?”  
Richard looked pointedly towards his sisters and fell back. Theresa kept pace with him.  
“None that survived; there are four graves in a secret corner of a private garden, which Mother or I go to sometimes. Samuel was born eighteen months after me; he lived for three years, until a fever took him.”  
“Do you remember him?” Theresa asked softly.  
“A little, I think. I have a miniature portrait of him that Mother gave me a few years ago. Thomas and Henry, twins, only survived for a week or so. They were never well – I only met them once.”  
Theresa rested her hand on Richard’s elbow in sympathy.  
“And the fourth?”  
“Lorelai,” he said, and paused, lowering his voice further. “Ariana’s twin.”  
“Oh…”  
“I want to tell her, but it’s not my place. I was nine, and they were the most beautiful girls I had ever seen. But Lorelai had a weak heart, and as she grew it worsened.”  
“How old?” she breathed.  
“Five months.”  
Theresa said nothing, withdrawing into her own thoughts.  
“Please, it’s not a secret, not really, but my parents don’t like to talk about it, so don’t mention it to Mother. Besides, these three little horrors are obscenely healthy,” he said, gesturing at his sisters.  
“My sister is thirteen, and my brother eleven,” she told him. “We are all healthy, but Mama wasn’t. She died from birthing Isaac.”   
Richard nodded soberly.  
“Papa says I look like her.”  
“She must have been beautiful.”  
Theresa stared at the prince, who turned away as he walked, swiping at leaves with a stick.


	2. Chapter 2

Dinner with the royal family was daunting, but ultimately enjoyable, Theresa found. The king was pleasant, if quiet, and the queen was bright and cheerful. There were only two other guests for dinner, and Richard introduced her, although she forgot their names and positions immediately. It was very late indeed that he helped her into an enclosed carriage, bundled in blankets and furs.  
“Thankyou, your highness. I had a lovely day today. And I’m not sure how to thank you enough for saving me from dinner with another irritating eligible gentleman.”  
“You had dinner with me,” he reminded her quietly.  
“But you’re not eligible, not really.”  
“I’m not engaged, Miss Theresa.”  
“But… I’m not a good match for you. So it’s different. Good-night, your highness,” she said cheerfully.  
“Good-night, Miss Theresa.”

They spent a good many days together in the coming weeks, going for walks or playing card games with the princesses, and dancing at balls. One fine day she received a note from the prince, asking if she had any plans for the day, or if she could accompany him on a carriage-ride that afternoon. Bored with embroidering, she jumped at the chance. After a quick change of dress, she was driven with the letter-carrier back to the palace.  
When she alighted from the carriage, Beatrice ran to greet her.  
“Miss Theresa! Miss Theresa!”  
“Your highness, your highness,” she replied, laughing merrily as she curtseyed. “It’s good to see you again.”  
“And you, ma’am,” the princess replied sedately. They grinned at each other.   
“Sorry for being tardy, Miss Theresa,” Richard said as he strode towards them. Theresa bobbed in a curtsey again, and he bowed slightly.  
“Shall we leave immediately, then? I don’t want to lose any daylight.”  
“That sounds marvellous, your highness.”

They chatted easily as Richard drove the horses along quiet roads. Theresa told the prince of her life growing up; how they ran amok like wild creatures between when their nursemaid left and when their father decided they needed a governess.  
“I do enjoy reading, and drawing, and embroidering, and all those quiet pastimes… but I do miss sometimes jumping in puddles and catching bugs… climbing trees, and swimming in the ocean.”  
“Well, I don’t know about swimming, but I was actually planning on taking us to the seashore this afternoon. I’m sure it’s not as picturesque as yours back home, but it would be something.”  
“Oh, your highness, that would be fantastic.”  
“If you like, we could walk along the beach.”  
“Of course!”  
Richard smiled.  
“I had some cold meats and things packed and brought them with us. We could have dinner there, if you want to linger.”  
“I don’t see any reason why not! This is a most agreeable day!”

When the horses obediently came to a halt where the road stopped and the grass turned into slopes of coarse sand, Theresa leapt from the cart. Richard followed, hobbling the horses before leaving them to graze. When he caught up to her, she was standing unsteadily on one leg, trying to undo the laces of one sensibly stylish boot.  
“Uh, Miss Theresa? What are you doing?”  
“What does it look like, Sir? I’m trying to get these confounded things off!”  
“Here, allow me.”  
He knelt in front of her, and she hitched her skirt up around her knees. When their eyes met they both looked away quickly, and when he glanced at her again, he saw she had turned a deep pink colour. Clearing his throat, he loosened the laces on both shoes sufficiently for her to pull her feet out and dig them into the sand.  
“Ah. That’s it.” She left her boots sitting neatly on the grass, and began walking towards the water. The prince shucked off his own boots after a moment’s hesitation and followed. Richard had hoped to hold Theresa’s hand as they walked, but she had her hands full holding up her skirts as she strolled through ankle-deep water.  
“I hope you will not think too much less of me, Sir,” she said jovially.  
“Not at all, Miss. I am sure I could not think any higher of you.”  
“Your highness, you will give me a big head with all these compliments!”  
Richard trailed his foot through the water silently.   
They continued to converse as the sun sank lower and lower. Eventually Theresa touched his elbow and said “look,” as she pointed west. The sky and water were ablaze in the most vibrant colours, stretching as far as Richard could see.  
“I missed that,” she confessed. “There are just these few minutes where it’s the most beautiful. Look to the east – even everything over there is pink with it.” The prince looked and agreed.  
“It’s almost magical.”  
“It’s _absolutely_ magical. I never want to miss this moment.”  
“Thankyou for sharing it with me,” Richard said quietly.  
“It’s not mine to share,” she told him absently, still looking around  
“But it’s special to you.”  
“Well, it is. Your highness, I find this more lovely than the best ball gowns and halls and dances and all the trappings of civilized life.”  
“I find, tonight, I am tempted to agree.”  
She grinned joyfully at him.  
“Shall we return to the carriage, and have some dinner?” he suggested. They did so, and Richard hung up lamps within the carriage and laid out the simple meal on a table with folding legs that he had also packed. The whole effect was cramped, but inviting. Theresa watched the last remnants of light disappear from the sky as she ate, and didn’t notice the prince looking closely at her.  
“Theresa,” he said suddenly, and she glanced at him and smiled briefly.  
“Thankyou again for inviting me today, your highness.”  
“Theresa, I know we’ve only known each other a short while, but I’ve come to care for you very much.”  
“Oh, yes, me too. I never imagined I would find such a good friend here.”  
Richard paused.  
“Yes. However…” he took her hand and stroked it gently. “Theresa, I find that to use any word less than ‘love’ to describe how I feel would be insufficient.”  
She pulled her hand back in shock.  
“I beg your pardon?”  
“I… Will you… would you marry me?”  
“Sir, I – I am flattered, but I fear we have had a grave misunderstanding,” she stalled breathlessly, and his expression crumpled into disappointment. “I have only ever sought to be your friend.”  
“And… you cannot foresee friendship becoming affection, and affection, love?”  
“I do not think it wise to plan a future based on something that may not yet happen, your highness.”  
“Well,” he said quietly. “I suppose not.”  
She hated to see him unhappy.  
“Your highness… Richard… I’ll understand if you won’t want to, but I would still like to spend time together.”  
“Really?”  
“I don’t lie, Sir,” she said, smiling. “We can help each other find more suitable matches.”  
He eventually nodded assent, and they finished eating in silence. Richard found the lack of conversation during the ride home awkward until he noticed Theresa had fallen asleep. He stopped the horses, and bade her sit inside the carriage to avoid having the biting wind on her face. When he arrived at her uncle and aunt’s house, rather late in the night, she began to stir.   
“Wake up, Miss Theresa. You’re home.”  
“Thanks, Richard… ah, your highness,” she mumbled.  
“Sleep well, Miss. I will see you soon.”  
She quietly climbed the stairs to her bedroom, pulled back the heavy curtains, and then spent much of the night staring out the window from her bed, tears sliding over her face.

~~~~

Dionn begged desperately for details about Theresa’s evening with the prince, but she refused to divulge anything. After a few days passed without contact from the palace, Dionn realised that something had not gone well. She cornered her cousin while she practiced playing the pianoforte.  
“Did you have an argument?”  
“No. No, just… a disagreement, I suppose.”  
“How is that different, Theresa?”  
“We weren’t angry.”  
“Oh.” She picked up the book she was currently reading, and set it down again immediately. “Let’s go for a walk.”  
Theresa gladly shut her music book.

~~~~

She was relieved when an invitation to another royal ball was delivered for herself and Dionn. When the night came and they arrived, Theresa curtseyed silently as the prince approached them. Richard sighed, and Dionn excused herself quietly.  
“Please, Miss Theresa. Let’s not start this business of being coy again.”   
“Alright, your highness. Would it be too improper to ask you to dance?” The prince grinned, his eyes sparkling.  
“That would be perfectly improper. I would very much like to dance.”

Eventually she broached the subject.  
“Do their Majesties wish for you to find a wife soon?”  
“I think personally they wouldn’t mind, but as a matter of politics, yes, very much.” Theresa nodded in understanding.  
“Well, you simply must introduce me to the rest of the young ladies at court.”  
“I must?”  
“Sir, I cannot help you find your queen if I do not know anyone. My family does not have a large or influential circle of friends, I am afraid.”  
“Then I shall also introduce you to the young men. Perhaps one of them will… attract you.” He grimaced and she blushed.  
“I beg you, Sir, do not take any offense from what I said that night. I was flattered, really, but surprised. If I ever gave you the wrong impression, I am sorry. I have the very highest respect for you, and I think you deserve someone who truly loves you. I will do my best to help you.”  
Richard nodded, and offered his arm.  
“Come; let’s make you some new friends.”

 

Theresa met a good many people that evening, and in the following weeks, was invited on walks and to dinners with a number of them. She made careful conversation with the young women in particular, and told Richard of her findings as they walked the palace grounds.  
“Lady Penelope’s daughters are nice,” she said. “You should spend some more time with them.”  
“They’re too wrapped up in fashion and gossip.”  
Theresa pouted. “I thought they made good conversation.”  
“Oh, they’re brilliant speakers. But that’s all they ever speak about. They don’t read, or enjoy music, or any of that.”   
“Oh. I see. Well, Lord Durham’s niece. I know she’s an intellectual.”  
“Miss Durham is indeed a lovely person. What she won’t tell you in a hurry, however, is that she already has a suitor. Her father sent her here to dissuade her, as he does not approve. I refuse to assist in that practice.”  
“So you already had pursued her?”  
Richard cleared his throat.  
“Briefly. Actually, it was Miss Yasmin – Lady Penelope’s eldest – who told me of her lover at home. Like I said, they live on gossip. But I took it to Miss Durham and she did not deny it.”  
“Oh.”  
“But truly, I believe you would get along very well.”  
“I believe so. Meanwhile, I think there are a few young men in your circles who do not bore or irritate me. Although that may just be a matter of time; I believe yours may be the only company I can withstand for any length of time.”


	3. Chapter 3

The new maiden at court was hard to miss, with a shock of deep red hair piled in luscious curls over her head. Seeing her, Theresa smiled and nodded firmly. She determined to introduce herself, and then the prince, to the young woman, as there seemed to be no other suitable brides for him. Hopefully he would then stop gazing at her so sadly, and she wouldn’t have to pretend that she didn’t notice. Dionn found her at that moment, however, and Theresa could not escape for some time. When she eventually made her way to the newcomer, she found the prince speaking to her animatedly, and a surge of jealousy rushed over her before she realised it. She simply wanted the opportunity to say she had introduced them, she reasoned. She had made a great many new friends, and didn’t mind one bit if the prince spent his time with someone else. Smiling, she approached the two. Richard introduced them.  
“Miss Theresa, may I introduce Miss Georgina Tremont. Miss Tremont, this is my good friend, Miss Theresa.”  
“Miss Georgina,” Theresa said happily, and curtseyed slightly. The redhead did the same. “I am so delighted to meet you.” She shot a meaningful glance at the prince, who smiled and nodded slightly, then covered up a laugh with a cough.   
“Please, Your Highness, Miss Theresa– I really prefer ‘Georgie’… Or rather, ‘Miss Georgie’, I suppose, now that we’re in society.”  
“I know what you mean, dear. I was so unaccustomed to the rigid formality of the city. However, you do get used to it eventually. Tell me, do you enjoy music, and drawing?”  
“Well, yes, I suppose. I would rather be outdoors, however.”  
“Oh, yes, me too.”  
“Miss Theresa, you really should take Miss Tremont under your wing; introduce her to our friends,” the prince suggested.  
“Oh, indeed, that may not be necessary. I believe my family knows a good many of the families at court. Of course, I have not yet met them all.”  
Theresa nodded hesitantly.

~~~~

It took her a couple of months to realize that Richard was not inviting her on quiet walks together nearly as often as he used to, as she had a busy calendar with her other friends. It was another month after that before she admitted that she missed his company. She asked him about it when they did see each other.  
“Oh, sorry, I’ve been spending time with Miss Georgie.”  
“Oh. I see.”  
“You do like her, don’t you?”  
“Yes, I like her very well,” she hedged.   
“Would you… would you approve, if I were to court her?”  
Theresa swallowed.   
“Sir, you don’t need my permission.”  
“All the same, I would like it.”  
“I suppose there is no reason why you should not,” she said eventually. “Please excuse me, I feel a little unwell.”   
“Are you alright, Miss Theresa?”  
“Yes, I think I just need to rest a while. I might go home, Sir.”  
The prince looked disappointed.  
“Well, please come tomorrow. We shall have a small party, just our friends.”  
“Very well. Good afternoon, your highness.”  
“Miss Theresa.”

~~~~

She was uncomfortable watching Richard talking with Georgie. The redhead was coy and sly; much like Theresa knew she herself had been. She played cards with their friends and performed duets on the pianoforte with Dionn, but faltered when she saw Richard rest his hand on Georgie’s shoulder and whisper in her ear. Georgie giggled and Theresa blushed. She fumbled through the rest of the song, and stood hurriedly.  
“I’m sorry. I think I need some fresh air.”  
“May I accompany you, Miss Theresa?”  
“No, thankyou very much, Arthur,” she declined, smiling across the room at him. She looked over to see Richard watching her closely, and she could not look away. “I just need some air.”  
She excused herself from the room, and found her way outside, pacing in the nearest garden. Richard soon joined her.  
“Theresa, what is the matter? Are you unwell still?”  
“I… I don’t know, Your Highness.”  
“Theresa, please let’s be honest with each other. I can tell you don’t like Miss Georgie.”  
“It’s not that I dislike her, Sir,” she replied breathlessly.  
“Then what is it?”  
She pursed her lips.  
“I… I don’t like to see you and her together.”  
“Why not?”  
Theresa took a deep breath. She wasn’t sure she could tell the prince what she had admitted to herself only a day before.  
“I suppose I am… jealous.”  
“Jealous? Miss Theresa, we’ll always be friends.”  
She drew away from him, her arms protectively around herself.  
“What if that were no longer enough for me?” she asked quietly. The prince, surprised, did not say anything for a moment.  
“But you turned me down,” he said eventually.  
“I know! It was just so fast – I didn’t realise how much I –“   
“If I asked you again, what would you say?”  
“I would say ’yes’, in a heartbeat,”   
“Oh.”  
Theresa watched him nervously when he said nothing more.  
“Sir, have I ruined my chance with you? Should I have not said anything? I mean, you would not be wrong to marry Georgie. I did tell you, tha–” Richard silenced her by holding her face gently and softly pressing his lips to hers.  
“Oh.”  
“No,” he smiled. “You did not ruin anything. I had promised nothing to Miss Georgie; what I liked most about her was the qualities you also have – the things I love about you.”  
Her cheeks reddened, and she couldn’t think of anything to say.  
“Theresa, will you marry me?”  
“Yes. Yes, I will, Richard.” She laughed softly and stroked his cheek.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good grief, this part of the story just rockets along. In my defence, nothing here is actually given in the fairytale, but I felt the need for some background. This is just a little prelude to the real story.


	4. Chapter 4

Richard asked her not to tell anyone about their engagement right away. He invited her to dinner the next night, where he told his parents and sisters. All were happily surprised. The Queen, after a brief whispered discussion with the king, insisted on giving her engagement ring to her son, to give to Theresa. The young girl was awed by this generosity, and spent the rest of the evening admiring the large gem set in the gold band.  
Richard accompanied her home, and had a few words with her uncle and aunt. Dionn joined Theresa listening at the door, although she hindered her eavesdropping rather by squealing, giggling, and shaking Theresa’s arm in excitement.  
“You never even liked him!” she said.  
“Shh. I changed my mind when I got to know him.”

Wedding plans swept her up immediately, and Theresa happily consented to everything demanded of her. Richard was as kind and attentive as ever, and she expressed her regret to him that she had made him put off proposing again for so long.  
“It all turned out for the best in the end, so there’s no complaining to be done.”  
“Yes, you’re right.” She pulled him a little closer and he kissed her again, his whole body pressing against hers.

~~~~

She had thought the day she married Richard was the happiest of her life, but had to re-evaluate that opinion a few months later when she found out she was expecting their first child. When Richard came home that evening, he found his young bride picking flowers in the garden of the villa they had moved into after their wedding. Theresa dropped everything she held when she saw him and raced, barefoot in the dirt, to embrace him.  
“We’re having a baby!” she exclaimed, and Richard laughed in surprise. He held her tight and spun around, making her shriek in excitement as her feet left the ground.

Theresa revelled in her pregnancy as much as she could. She knew from talking to other women that she had it rather easy, as she was rarely nauseous from it. Her modest curves grew more womanly as her stomach swelled, and in the warm summer evenings she danced for Richard, swaying alluringly in front of him.

When she was nearly due to give birth, and penned in by attendants who meant well, she became impatient to meet her child. Her labour began as she ate dinner, and she grinned in satisfaction. In the morning, exhausted but thoroughly happy, she held her son for the first time and introduced him to his father. They named him Frederick. 

Their son was not yet a year old when Theresa discovered she was expecting again. Given how fast she grew, she was unsurprised to discover she was bearing twins. Richard cared for Frederick as her pregnancy progressed and she became unable to pick him up. In the last months, she was told to remain in bed as much as possible. Convinced she would go mad with boredom, she was thankful for Dionn’s regular visits.   
“Arthur brought me here today,” she confessed one day. Theresa grinned.  
“Oh really? Where did you leave him?”  
“In the drawing-room, with Prince Richard and Freddie. I think they’re playing chess.”  
“That’s very kind of him, to bring you all this way.”  
“Well, it’s a nice excuse to spend an afternoon with him.”  
“Indeed. So, when did you start going on carriage rides with him?”  
Dionn blushed and ducked her head.  
“Not long ago. At least I’m not being all secretive with my romance.”  
Theresa poked her tongue out at her cousin.

Samuel and Caleb were healthy additions to their family. She was able to leave them with Richard and a nursemaid on the day of Arthur and Dionn’s wedding, when they were a few months old.   
“Freddie ran everywhere, today,” Richard told her that evening. “Is he like that with you?”  
“Sometimes,” she chuckled, “although I don’t chase him when he runs, and then he doesn’t do it as much.”  
“I always knew you were smarter than me,” he murmured, nuzzling her neck.  
“Yes, I did too,’ she joked.

~~~~

When Dionn gave birth to her first child, a daughter, Theresa was honoured to be asked to be there with her. A year later, in her next pregnancy, Theresa went into labour earlier than expected, and Isabelle made her way into the world with a thin wail.   
“Is she alright?” she asked Richard as healers whisked her away.  
“A little fragile, but as beautiful as her mama.”

Theresa carried twins again a year later, willingly submitting herself to bed rest after fainting one afternoon. She laboured for a long time, and Richard named his fourth and fifth sons Phillip and Henry. Their grandfather the king doted on his grandchildren, but he was unwell, and the next winter became very ill. Richard curled up in bed beside his wife at night, and Theresa kissed his forehead, surprised when he broke down and began to sob inconsolably. She rubbed his back gently.  
“Oh, oh, my love, shh, no, shh. Everything is going to be alright.”  
“I’m not ready to be king,” he admitted. “I thought it would still be years off.”  
She gasped.  
“Oh, no, is it that serious? Is Father not going to recover?”  
“No. No, he’s not. Oh, Theresa, what do I do? How will I manage?”  
“You have your mama, and me. We’ll help. And I’m sure everyone else will too. Just spend all the time with him that you can.”

~~~~

A healer confirmed what she already knew – she was expecting once again. Leaving her sons and daughter with their nursemaids, she took a carriage to the royal palace, where Richard was with his parents and sisters. Ariana, Sophia and Beatrice sat quietly with their mother outside the room where the king and prince talked. When Theresa knocked quietly on the door, Richard opened it, looking at her through red-rimmed eyes.  
“Can I come in?” she asked. “I want to tell the King something.”  
He swallowed and nodded, and Theresa approached the bed the King was propped up in. He gazed at her with bleary eyes as she curtseyed, then sat beside him. When she took his hand she noticed his skin was cool and slack, from having lost weight from his illness.  
“Your highness, good afternoon,” she said soothingly. “I wanted to let you know that Richard and I are having another child.”  
“What,” she heard Richard whisper. The king looked her in the eye, and with great effort brought his free hand to hers.  
“Good, good. You look after Isabelle, and all those boys of yours. Especially Richard. He–” he was cut off by a series of hacking coughs. A healer rushed in with a small cup of a foul-smelling brew, and sitting the king up slightly, made him swallow most of it. The coughing subsided. Richard came up behind her and slid his hands over her stomach.  
“Another one. Are you going to be alright?”  
Theresa nodded slightly.  
“My darling, I love you.”

This pregnancy hit her hard, leaving her bedridden from very early on. She relied on Freddie chatting to her every afternoon when his nursemaid brought him to visit his mother in her bed. Samuel, Caleb, and Isabelle talked to her also, albeit less sensibly. Phillip and Henry were often content to simply cuddle, and Richard spent as much time as he could with her. Dionn came to visit regularly, until her own pregnancy prompted her to stay at home. When Richard stumbled into her room early one afternoon and sat silently on the edge of the bed without looking at her, she knew what had happened.  
“I was thinking,” she said softly. “If this baby is a boy also, we could name him after your father.”  
Richard drew in a ragged breath and let it out shakily.  
“I would like that.” Tears began running down his cheeks quietly, and Theresa pulled her husband to her chest, her own eyes stinging.


	5. Part Two

“Damnit,” Richard said, turning his stallion in a full circle. Each direction looked as likely or not as any other, and the trees were so dense they blocked him from seeing any great distance. He was lost.  
“Damnit,” he said again. Richard turned south, or something similar, and set off. He continued for a long while, keeping the sun on his right, although it was now sinking steadily lower, and Richard’s hopes for returning home without having to survive a night in the wild were doing the same. He had camped out before, in training as a page and a squire, but many years had since passed. Stretching his back, he felt a few satisfying pops as tension released. Seeing something, he stopped his horse and stared, willing his sight to improve. An aged figure, bent almost in half and with a tremor of the head and hands, made its way towards him. The figure looked up at him, and Richard perceived that it was an old woman, her face shrewd.  
“Good lady,” he said politely. “Could you show me the way out of this forest?”  
“Yes, your Majesty,” the woman replied, and Richard was taken aback, as he was wearing nothing to signify his rank.  
“I thank you, ma’am. I would be most gra–”  
“I could show you the way out,” she continued, “on one condition, or else you would never get out of this forest and sadly perish.”  
Richard stared at her, horrified.  
“Are you threatening me, woman?” she shook her head and tutted as she waved her gnarled cane.  
“Not at all, highness. Will you accept my condition?”  
“What is your condition?”  
“I have a daughter,” the crone told him. “She is easily as beautiful as any of the ladies in your court. She surely deserves to be your Queen, and if you would have her, I will show you the way out of the forest, to your palace.”  
Speechless, Richard surveyed the area again. He could barely discern which direction he had come from, and there was still no landmark to give him any point of reference.   
_Theresa looked sadly at him in his mind’s eye. He saw her lying in bed, pale and weak and still the most beautiful girl he had ever seen._  
 _She smiled up at him, and then grimaced at a spasm of pain. She reached for his hand and he had taken it, mopping her brow with a cloth in his other hand. Theresa seemed unaware of the bustle of healers surrounding them, trying to staunch the bleeding._  
 _“It’s another beautiful boy,” he had told her, his eyes brimming with tears._  
 _“Oh, oh, good. Call him Alexander,” she whispered, her grip on his hand slackening._  
 _“Like we decided,” he agreed. She did not reply. “Theresa?”_  
 _“Queen Theresa. Your Majesty,” the healer’s assistant touched her face gently, tipping her head to look into her eyes._  
 _“Theresa,” Richard begged. Her fingers twitched in his._  
 _“Kiss me,” she murmured, and he obeyed. While he still leant over her, she spoke again._  
 _“Thankyou,”_  
 _“What?” he sat up, looking at her, confused, but she did not reply. Looking to the senior healer, he asked what was happening._  
 _“She is going, Majesty. I am truly sorry; there is nothing more we can do. It will be over soon.”_  
 _“No.”_  
 _“Sir, say your goodbyes.” The older man’s face and voice softened. “Tell her you love her. She hasn’t got much time to hear it.”_  
“No!”  
“Very well, your Majesty. I wish you luck on your journey,” the hag said, turning slowly away.  
Richard thought of his children. Frederick was barely seventeen; almost grown up, but far from ready to take the throne. He thought of himself at twenty-seven, terrified on his coronation day. Samuel and Caleb were enjoying being young men, as indestructible as he had been. Isabelle was nearly fourteen, and looked and sounded more like her mama every day. Philip and Henry were beginning to determine who they were, and Alexander... He couldn’t bear to think of them worrying where he was.  
“Wait, no, don’t go. I – I will have your daughter.”  
The old woman smiled confidently and motioned for him to follow her. She led him through the dense woodlands for quite some time, until at last they came upon a small, run-down cottage. Richard dismounted, and heard running water. Not far from the house ran a thin creek. He tethered his horse so that the gelding could drink. When he turned back to the cottage, he could see the crone waiting in the doorway for him. He indicated that she should enter first, and she did so, bobbing her head erratically. Warily he followed her.  
The interior was as dark and unwelcoming as the exterior. A fire crackled, and over it hung a pot of stew with an aroma that was unfamiliar though not unpleasant. A woman stirred the pot, but turned away from it when Richard entered her house.  
“Your Majesty,” she said smoothly, apparently unsurprised by his presence. She curtseyed deeply. “It is very nice to meet you.”  
When she rose to look at him, he had to stop himself recoiling. The woman was indeed at least as beautiful as anyone he had ever met, but her eyes were cold and hard. Richard forced himself to take her hand and bowed low to her, kissing her smooth hand lightly.  
“My lady.”  
They ate dinner quietly, Richard learning nothing more about his betrothed than her name and age; Valerie was thirty-one, twelve years younger than him. They went to bed early, Valerie sharing her mother’s bed, giving the king hers. Richard could not sleep soundly, however, and countless times through the night considered leaving and trying to find his way alone.  
In the morning, Valerie, without Richard saying anything to her or hearing her mother say anything, prepared to go with him. With some difficulty, he sat her in front of him on his horse.  
“Valerie knows the way,” the old mother said by way of explanation and farewell, when Richard looked at her questioningly, then she turned back into the house. The woman pointed in one direction, and he turned the horse that way.

~~~~

Once they left the forest and approached the city, Richard relaxed slightly; he was safely out of the dense and confusing trees. It was not long before they came upon a squad of soldiers riding in the other direction. Their leader, a captain the king had met before, rode right up to them and saluted sharply.  
“Your Majesty.”  
“Captain.”  
“It’s such a relief you’re alright, Sir. We were just heading into the forest to search for you.”  
“Surely a king can survive one night in the woods without his soldiers fretting about him. I had the same training as you.”  
The captain looked confused for a moment.  
“Sir, may I talk to you in private?”  
Richard nodded.  
“Miss Valerie, excuse me for a moment, please.”  
“Of course, Richard,” she said smoothly, her musical voice irritating him nearly as much as her familiar use of his name. He dismounted, and the captain did likewise. They walked away for a moment, until the soldier stopped.  
“Sir, who is that woman?”  
The king sighed.  
“Her name is Valerie, and she’s going to be my wife.”  
“Your – Sir, congratulations.”  
“No. No, this is complicated. I had to agree to marry her to be shown a way out of the forest.”  
“Surely we would have found you – us, or one of the other squads.”  
“One of the other – captain, why such panic? Has something happened since yesterday?”  
“Yesterday, Sir?” The king began to get irritated.  
“Yesterday, when I got lost. Why is this so difficult?”  
“Sir, you’ve been missing for a week,” the captain answered nervously. Richard glanced at Valerie and scowled.  
“Don’t look alarmed, and don’t ask questions,” he said quietly and quickly. “I have made a deal with a witch, and I only hope that it will not hurt this country. I will marry Valerie, because I will not go back on my word, and I don’t want to know what would happen if I do. Just take my children out of the palace. Get them away; take them anywhere, as long as they’re safe. Go now. Hurry.”  
The captain saluted him, then turned and hurried back to his horse. With a few short words and some hand signals, he rode away with a few of his men, the bulk of the squad staying with the king  
“What was that?” Valerie enquired.  
“Just a patrol. I’ve sent the captain ahead with word that we are returning. These men will escort us.”  
She leaned against him, and he could not push her away.


	6. Chapter 6

They married in a simple ceremony two days later, with no-one other than witnesses attending. A week later he managed to get away to Arthur and Dionn’s estate, where his children had been staying. Isabelle ran to her father’s embrace as soon as he entered the house, and he held her tight, kissing her head. Frederick approached him next.  
“Father, what is going on?”  
Richard hugged his eldest son as well before he answered.  
“I’m so sorry. When I was hunting, I got lost.”  
“We know; we were worried,” Henry interjected.  
“No, but something happened. It was only one night for me, but a woman – an old witch – found me, and told me that if I did not marry her daughter, she would not show me the way out, and I would die in the forest.”  
“She was lying!”  
“I don’t believe she was, Samuel, which was why I had no choice but to accept. I couldn’t bear to leave you all here alone.”  
“No,” Frederick said in disbelief. “How could you – you told us you’d never remarry. You said Mama was the only woman you’d ever love.”  
“That much is true, I _swear_. I just can’t see any way out of this at the moment. I had you come away because I don’t trust Valerie – and I certainly don’t love her. I will find somewhere for you to live until I work things out. Somewhere secret.”  
“What about – why can’t –”  
“No, let me make this perfectly clear. Valerie scares me. She’s my wife, now, and I can only assume she has some sort of motive or plan for that. I do _not_ want you caught up in this. You will go somewhere safe. That is not up for discussion.”  
His children stood quietly for a moment while they thought. They were too well-mannered to make any more objections.  
“Will… will anyone go with us, or…” Alex trailed off, thinking. “I mean, who can you trust? Apart from family, like Uncle Arthur and Aunt Dionn. What about your sisters, Father?”  
“I don’t want you so far away I can’t visit you.”  
“I can look after these boys, Daddy, if we stay somewhere nice, but not too big.”  
He hugged his daughter again.  
“You are my little saviour. I’m so proud of all of you, alright? Stay here until I find somewhere safe. “  
“Love you, Father,” Caleb murmured. The other six took up a quiet chorus saying the same thing.  
“I love you, too,” he smiled bravely, leaving them.  
He came to hear of a house deep in the eastern forest. The reports he heard said that it was impossible to find intentionally, but huntsmen occasionally stumbled across it and left without investigating, unnerved. 

The King visited a wise woman, who muttered to herself as she rummaged through a chest. With no indication as to where he should sit, he stood close beside her.  
“Here, Majesty. This will take your children and yourself to the house hidden by the forest.”  
“I didn’t say anything about my children,” Richard pointed out warily.  
“Why else would you be coming to see me? You made a deal with a witch to save your own life – perhaps not the wisest act, but who can judge until they’ve been in that situation? Now you have a wife who scares you so much you’ve already sent your children to live with trusted friends. Not any of your sisters; that would be too obvious, and also too far distant for a man so close to his sons and daughter. What other family do you have, but the cousin and best friend of your late wife, Theresa?” The king paled, and the wise woman continued.   
“You don’t wish to burden Lord Arthur with the secret of hiding your children, so you want to take them to the house hidden in the forest, and you want a way of finding your way there and back. Is that not right?”  
“Are you a witch, too? How do you read my mind?”  
“No, I can’t read minds, just facts. And I am certainly not a witch, at least not like the ones you’ve met. This will help you,” she said simply, handing him a large ball of twine.  
“What –”  
“Go to the obelisk by the edge of the forest. Do you know the one?”  
“Yes, I know it.” The ancient stone a little way out of the city was a familiar landmark and meeting point.  
“Good. Enter the forest at the nearest path after that, and, taking the end of the string in one hand, throw the ball away from you. It will keep rolling until it reaches the hidden house. I recommend rolling it back up as you go. It will show you the way home the same way.”  
“Thankyou,” Richard said sincerely.   
~

All seven of his children seemed content enough to take their most treasured possessions and go to live in the forest. Richard gave them strict instructions about keeping inside as much as possible, and never going so far from the house that they could not see it to find their way back.  
“Will you come visit us often, Daddy?”   
“Of course I will, Isabelle. I’ll come every week. Promise to tell me if the boys misbehave, alright?”  
“Yes, Sir,” she replied cheerily. Samuel cleared his throat  
“Can we give you letters to give to people back home?”   
“Ah, king one day, mailman the next. What is becoming of me?”  
“Look, if it’s a problem, don’t worry about it.”  
“No, Sam, it’s no problem. Who am I delivering letters to? Can we trust them?” His sixteen-year-old son coloured bright red and his twin elbowed him in the ribs.  
“Um, Elizabeth, actually.”  
Richard chuckled, wondering if his son and Dionn’s daughter had been courting before they lived in the same house for a month, or not. He supposed it didn’t really matter.

Valerie had asked him about his children only once, and having foreseen the question, Richard told her flippantly that he had long since sent some of them to live with each of his sisters. He hinted carefully that he was not close to any of them. His new wife seemed satisfied by his answer, and they had not discussed it again. Meanwhile, he visited them regularly. With less than a day to spend with them each time, he treasured each moment, and often spent much of the day in close discussion with one child, promising the others that they would have their day soon. Frederick asked him about ruling the country, questions for which Richard was careful to give detailed and honest answers. Caleb and Henry showed him the thin paths they were cutting through the forest in arrow-straight lines away from the house, allowing them to venture a little further away to hunt. They preferred to spend the day with their father in amiable silence, waiting for a hare, pheasant, deer, or boar to cross the path. Spending the day with Phillip usually involved making repairs or improvements to the house. Samuel always had at least one letter to send to Elizabeth, who often had four or five for him. He and Alex both tended their vegetable garden fastidiously. Isabelle sat her father in the kitchen and forced him to sample all of her cooking, the vast majority of which was delicious. She also dutifully tended to the chickens living in the pen her brothers had built, and milked her cow every morning.   
“I’m sorry you must spend the days doing such menial tasks,” her father had told her.  
“No, don’t be, daddy,” she had replied. “I don’t mind, honestly. Besides, Freddy and Sam and Caleb teach Henry and Phil and Alex and I things with mathematics and science and philosophy. I do miss talking to other girls, sometimes, but Elizabeth and I write each other too.”  
“Alright.”  
“Daddy, how are _you_ going? What is Valerie like?” It was approaching a year since they had married, but Richard was no less apprehensive of her, nor had he any idea how to safely return his children to the palace.  
“She is very beautiful, incredibly so, but there is no warmth in her looks; no life, or love. She’s... cold, and calculating, and I don’t know what she wants. You, on the other hand, look just like your mama, but for the colour of your eyes, which you got from me, and your nose which is just the same as Aunty Ariana’s. Anyone can tell by looking at you that you are bright and cheeky, and love to laugh. You are kind, and generous. ”  
Isabelle laughed in embarrassment.  
“Daddy, stop.”   
Richard laughed.   
“Well, I think you are. Your mama was the same.”  
“Do you miss her?”  
“Every single second,” he said grimly.  
“Do you ever feel grumpy at me because it’s my fault Mama died?” Alex asked quietly, appearing in the doorway. Richard stared at his youngest son.  
“What?”  
“Oh, well, I don’t know. Sometimes I think, I wouldn’t blame you if you were.”  
Richard remembered being suddenly surrounded by his mother, Ariana, Sophia, Beatrice, and Dionn as he surfaced from his room, hung over and desolate. Sophia held baby Alexander in her arms.  
 _“Get that away from me!” he had growled.  
“He’s not a ‘that’, Richard. Alex is your son.”  
“I’d rather Theresa.”  
“I miss her too, but Alex needs you.”  
“You miss her?” his voice rose hoarsely. “YOU miss her? You have no idea how I feel, Bea. You MISS her? I would give anything to just ‘miss’ her. I can hardly breathe without her. What’s the point in–” he stopped suddenly, when his mother slapped him. Shocked, he stood still and silent.  
“Richard Louis George Owen! Cease this nonsense immediately. Do you think you are the first person to lose the love of their life?”  
“I–” He looked into his mother’s eyes and saw his own pain mirrored there. “Oh, Mama.” He broke down, falling to his knees and clinging to her as sobs wracked his body.  
“I won’t tell you to not cry or be upset,” she said kindly. “But I will tell you that if you turn away from the children Theresa gave you, instead of towards them, it will be the single most stupid thing you’ve ever done.”  
“She wasn’t even supposed to get pregnant again,” he protested as he gulped air, trying to calm himself. “We agreed after Henry and Phil, no more.”  
“I went with her to the healer, when she first found out she was carrying again,” Dionn whispered. “He told her it was dangerous for her. He said he could take it out of her, because she was still so early on.”  
“What?” He whispered.” I didn’t know that.”  
“Of course you didn’t. She didn’t consider it for a second. Theresa knew this could happen, your Highness, and she wanted to have little Alexander anyway. She believed that you could raise your children even if you were alone. Was she wrong? Are you going to let her down now?”  
Richard took a deep breath, and another.  
“No.” He shifted to sit with his back to the wall, and looked up at Sophia.  
“Let me hold him?” His sister delivered the infant into his arms.  
“Oh. He looks like Freddy.”  
“My Elizabeth looked quite similar for a while too,” Dionn agreed. Alexander gazed placidly at his father, waving his arms aimlessly. Richard’s hand played over his stomach, tickling him gently.  
“I don’t know how to do this without her,” he admitted._  
“Papa?”  
“Your mama wanted you, even though she knew it would be hard for her. I don’t want you to ever, _ever_ blame yourself for what happened to her.”


	7. Chapter 7

While his children worried about their father, Valerie was suspicious of her husband. He left for a whole day nearly once a week. It had taken longer than it should have for her to notice, since he did not always go on the same day. He said he was hunting, but he never brought home game, and when she questioned stablemen, they confirmed that he went alone, without hunting equipment. She considered if he was having an affair, but quickly dismissed that idea. The man was still desperately in love with his first wife, and the intervening years had done little to dull his pain of losing her. If she could not seduce him – and she could not, despite her best efforts – she was sure no-one else could either. She began asking his servants questions, finding out who was the most loyal and who could be bought. One servant was so bold as to ask to see the gold before he would answer her question, and she was impressed enough to hand it over.  
“He’s seeing his children,” the servant said simply, bouncing the bag of money in his hand, judging its weight. Valerie scoffed.  
“If that’s your answer, you can give me that back.”  
“I swear, my lady.”  
“They’re abroad, though. Living with the king’s sisters.”  
“No, they live much closer than that. His Majesty could not bear to be parted from his children.”  
“Then why do they not live here?”  
The man looked away.  
“I couldn’t say, ma’am,” he muttered.

She couldn’t believe Richard had lied to her. So he had tucked his children away somewhere nearby, hidden from her? He was smarter than she had given him credit for, but unfortunately for him, it ultimately worked out better for her. Valerie demanded access to a silversmithing workshop, and began crafting. 

Their father had visited only three days previous, so when the princes heard hoofbeats approaching, they were very excited.  
“Maybe Papa has finally gotten rid of Valerie!”  
“Maybe. I hope so. Perhaps he has not yet, but will be able to do so soon. Do not be disappointed if we need to stay another week or two.” Frederick and Caleb tried to calm the younger boys, but it was to no use, as they were also excited. They hurried outside, leaving Isabelle as she fed the cackling chickens behind the house. She had no idea of any incident until she heard the sudden and lengthy cries of a number of birds. She circled the house, hiding when she saw an unfamiliar horse. Some large birds flew right over her head, and she shrieked and ducked. When Isabelle straightened, she noticed someone calmly watching her. The silk- and velvet-clad woman straightened the gold circlet she wore on her head, and sneered at the princess.  
“Well, that was easier than I expected.”  
She knew better than to take such bait.  
“I assume you are Lady Valerie.”  
“And I assume you are Isabelle.”  
“My brothers. Where are they?”  
“Well, long gone by now, I imagine.”  
“What did you do?”  
“Eliminated hurdles.”  
“Did you kill them?”  
“I didn’t have to. I will kill you, though, if you get in my way.”  
Valerie smiled sweetly, and Isabelle backed away hurriedly, completely terrified.  
“Run away, little girl. You’re not a princess anymore; you’re nobody.”

~~~~

Her brothers had ensured that she was not a fainting sort of a girl, but by the end of the day Isabelle was concerned that she might do just that. She had not stopped at all during the day except to scoop water from any streams she found, and besides her thin shoes rubbing cruelly against her feet, she felt lightheaded. As the sun slipped behind the trees she noticed a hut ahead of her, and raced towards it. It was not locked, so she let herself in. She found a bedroom with a fur rug half-covered by the bed. Crawling under the bed, she lay on the rug and thought to stay the night there, wondering if she might cry. Within a minute, however, Isabelle heard a rustling, and crawled so she could look out from under the bed. There was a large swan in the room, quite close to her, and as she watched, a hand over her mouth, another landed on the windowsill and hopped to the floor. She squinted as the sun shone directly in her eyes. More followed, until there were six swans mingling on the wooden floor. The first swan raised his wings and began brushing the others with them. The others did likewise, and there was a sudden flurry of feathers. When they settled, she could see the silhouetted shapes of six young men, brushing the last of the white feathers from their bodies. Then she heard them.  
“Good grief. That is _ridiculous_.”  
“My arms are so sore, I think they might fall off.” Recognising her brother’s voices, Isabelle shrieked and scrambled out.  
“Oh, there she is!” Frederick laughed as she ran to him and squeezed him tight. She hugged all her brothers in turn as she questioned them. “What happened to you? Where did you go? I was so worried, and so scared, I ran away...”  
“Yes, Belle, we know. Do you think we’d leave our only sister alone in the forest?”  
“You followed me?”  
“Of course. It was Valerie, it must have been. She was just like father said, beautiful and terrifying. She did this.”   
Isabelle whimpered.  
“Listen, Isabelle, you can’t stay here. This is a house for poachers and thieves. You have to leave.”  
“But you’re you again! It’s all better; we can go back home!”  
“No, we only have a few minutes – until the sun sets. Then we’ll be swans again.”  
“But what will you do? Is there no way to lift the curse?”  
Samuel and Henry nodded slowly, but Frederick raised his hand to them.  
“No. There is nothing you can do.”  
“What? What is it? Why did you nod, then?”  
“No, forget it, Isabelle,” Caleb said sadly. He wrapped her in an embrace. “We couldn’t ask you to do it; it’s too much.”  
“I _demand_ you tell me, right now!”  
Frederick sighed.  
“There is one way to lift this curse. For six whole years you can never speak, and never laugh, and in that time you must make us each a shirt from starwort. If ever even one sound comes from your lips, all hope is lost. It is too much to ask.”  
Isabelle wanted to ask them more questions, but the sun sank beyond the horizon and her beloved brothers began to writhe, their bodies contorting painfully and sprouting feathers, until they were once again swans. Their sister wept and kissed each of them on the head, waving goodbye as they flew away. Silently she left the hut, helping herself to some food as she passed through the kitchen. She walked until she found a huge dead tree with a large hollow in it about fifteen feet up. Climbing in, she wrapped herself in her cloak and went to sleep.

When she woke in the morning she immediately began searching for starwort. Finding a large patch, she sat back on her haunches to consider it.   
_How do I sew a shirt from a weed?_ She thought in despair. Eventually she left to find a flat shard of rock, and upon returning hacked at the earth until she could pick the whole patch up, roots and all. She replanted it near the base of her tree.  
Philip had told her the hut that they had found her in belonged to thieves, so when she found it again she had no qualms about pilfering supplies from there. A rope was invaluable to her to more easily access her tree-hollow, as was a blanket to keep warm in the evening, and a spade for uprooting starwort. A knife with a whetstone quickly became her most treasured possession. Other tools she borrowed and returned if she didn’t think she would need them constantly, and within a matter of weeks had smoothed out the inside of the hollow somewhat to make it more comfortable. Starwort was planted all around her tree, and she tended it carefully, toting her stolen bucket full of stream-water to dribble over it every day. For three months it was easy to neither laugh nor speak, as she saw no people but the occasional thief when she waited to “borrow” another tool. Sometimes she saw a swan fly above her or float in the stream, and she waved and blew kisses to her brothers, unsure which one she was seeing. If they watched her, they knew she often cried quietly for a long time after seeing them, and carefully kept a greater distance, as she saw them less as time went on.

~~~~

Richard searched his children’s cottage thoroughly, but could find nothing to hint at the reason for their disappearance. Things were left scattered throughout the house, not from a struggle, but simply from having been left. He couldn’t be sure, but he didn’t think any clothes had been packed and taken, either. Curiously, the chickens and cow had been set loose, with every available bucket and pot filled with water for them. The animals had torn apart the vegetable patch and made a mess of the whole grounds, so that the king had no chance of telling if someone, or a group of people, had found the hidden cottage. There was nothing to be done, so he despondently went home to his wife. Valerie could have no idea that his children had disappeared – he would never let even the slightest hint reach her.


	8. Chapter 8

Isabelle had long since decided that to sew a plant, she must first weave fabric. After a short attempt endeavouring to weave the leaf-stripped stems, she determined to try something else. She had been quite adept at embroidering, until she had moved to the hidden house and no longer had time for such decoration, but spinning, weaving, or knitting was beyond her. _Well_ , she thought. _I guess I’ll have to learn._  
To spin, she would need fibre. That much she knew, and she set about harvesting small amounts of her precious crop to experiment. She was sitting on a branch of her tree one afternoon, desiccating a half-dried stem, when suddenly a group of young men on horses had surrounded her. Her task had so enthralled her that she had not heard them approach. One of them, dressed in fine velvet and fur, called out to her.  
“Who are you?”  
She looked blankly at him, not understanding the language. These were not the thieves, the only people she had thought to see for many more years.   
“What is your name?” Isabelle shook her head at him and shrugged. The young man turned to his friends for a moment, murmuring. Looking back at her, he tried again.  
“Ciao? Chi sei tu?”   
Isabelle shrugged and shook her head again. A different young man tried.  
"Wat is uw naam? Waar ben je?" Getting distressed, she repeated the “I don’t know” gesture. She unclasped her gold necklace, the one that her father had bought for her mother. Hoping her parents would forgive her, she threw it to the young man who seemed to be in charge. _It’s worth a lot of money,_ she thought, making a shooing motion with her hands. _Take it and go._ He held it, confused.  
“I don’t want your jewellery. Uh... Halló? Mi a neved? "  
Isabelle threw down her cloak, which had once been as fine as his.  
“Hola?” she stared at him before him before retrieving and throwing down her shoes. She had not worn them in over six weeks.  
“Guten tag? Wer bist du?  
Her mouth opened without her thinking, and she clapped a hand over it, pointing at the handsome young man while she nodded furiously.  
“Oh, great. You understood that? Speak the language I _don’t_ know, thanks very much.”  
She frowned in confusion.  
“Um. Komme... her. Runter.”  
Her dress was torn in a few places, but she was sure it was still worth something. Slipping it off, she passed it as well to the youths. Some of them made what she was sure were lewd remarks in their own language, and Isabelle was for a moment glad she could not understand them, and shivered in her underdress. She looked at him and repeated the shooing motions.   
“Komme her. Nicht wehtun.”  
When she shook her head silently again, He scratched his head in confusion.  
“Alright. Someone needs to get up there and bring her down,” he murmured to his friends. When two of them got off their horses Isabelle shook her head wildly, gesturing with her hands. It was only when they started walking towards her and she scrambled to her feet that he called “Stop. She’s trying to tell us something.”  
Isabelle was exaggerating walking by stomping along the branch, her arms held out to make herself appear bigger. She stopped and mimed “no”. Then she bent over, drew a circle on the branch, and daintily stepped into it. Bending again, she repeated the process.  
“She’s telling us to go on the stepping stones, I think,” his friend said. They called out to her again. “Gehwig bleiben?”   
She nodded, resigning herself to leaving the tree. She nimbly ran along the branch and climbed into her hollow. Surveying her wooden room, she grabbed her shovel, and threw her rope ladder down. Just as the two young men reached her, she climbed quickly past them, making a hand gesture she had learnt from her brothers. Skipping over the stepping stones she had placed, Isabelle stood with her hands on her hips and glared at the young man.  
“Komme her,” he repeated. “Mit mir kommen.” She crossed her arms and shook her head.  
“Komme. Ich bin König. Mit mir kommen. Nicht... wehtun.”  
He could read her incredulous expression easily.  
“Ja! Ich bin König.” He jumped off his horse and reached for her hand. Suddenly aware that she was filthy and only half-dressed, she timidly extended her hand too. He took it and looked into her eyes, and she blushed a little.   
“I am King Jonathon,” he said quietly, and bowing, kissed her hand. When he let go she curtseyed deeply.  
“Mit mir kommen?” he asked again. She held out the shovel and he looked from it to her and back again.  
“What?”  
Isabelle turned from the young king and knelt by her starwort garden. Stroking it, she looked back at him with pleading eyes.  
“But that’s just a weed,” he said. “Why do you...”  
She couldn’t understand his words but his derision was clear. Desperately she beat her chest and stroked the plants again. Jonathon sighed and nodded, rubbing his temples.  
“Alright! Ja. Ja. Blumen. Kannst blumen haben.”  
Isabelle nodded, and curtseyed again when he returned her dress and cloak to her. Smacking away his hand when he tried to lift her onto his horse, she boosted herself up to perch on the front of the saddle. He scowled when his friends snickered at him as he dug up a small patch of the starwort to rest on her lap, but stopped when he, at the girl’s direction, also gave them clumps of the plant. Sitting behind her, he shifted her slightly so they were both comfortable, and Isabelle blushed at the closeness. Jonathon turned his horse to head for home, and his friends followed.  
“Ich bin Jonathon,” he repeated quietly. “Ich bin siebzehn. Ja?” She nodded, and held up both hands with fingers outstretched, then one hand again.  
“Fifteen? Uh, fünfzehn?” She nodded again.  
“Alright. I’ll look after you, little girl.” Isabelle leaned against him tentatively, eventually relaxing and dozing lightly, as the ride was long.  
“So you finally found yourself a girl, Jon,” one of his friends said cheerfully.  
“Oh, shut up. She’s only fifteen – isn’t that how old _your_ sister is, Dan? We couldn’t leave her there any more than we could leave Laura.”  
“No, I suppose not. Still, though. I saw your face. You’re sweet on the little mute girl.”  
“Well. She’s beautiful, so what?”  
His friends chuckled. “She’s some sort of feral child, living in a tree. You know what your mother will say.”  
“So? I’m the king, and in four months I’ll be an adult and she won’t be regent any more. I can do what I want.”

~~~~

Jonathon gripped her shoulder to wake her some time later when they came to a good view of the palace.  
“Mein haus,” he told her. “This is Varne. Varne,” he repeated.  
Isabelle nodded in realisation. Finally she knew where she was.

The young king gave her the best suite of rooms available, along with a patient maid, asking that she be presentable for dinner in an hour. Isabelle immediately went to the washroom and requested a bath by tapping and rubbing the sides of the tub. Once it had been filled she soaked happily for as long as she could, before the maid insisted on dressing her. Her hair was tangled and beginning to matt, and without the time to brush it properly, they pinned a headscarf demurely over it. Jonathon came to her room to escort her to the dining room, and when the maid opened the door, Isabelle could see him stare at her for a moment. She smiled shyly and curtseyed. He offered her his arm and she took it.  
“You’re very pretty,” he told her, but she only smiled blankly at him.

Dinner was a sombre affair, something Isabelle attributed to Jonathon’s mother. Without understanding a word, she could only assume that the king made numerous attempts at conversation, only to be cut off by the Dowager Queen, who seemed to be in a foul mood. The young princess wondered if that was her permanent disposition, or if something had irritated her. Wanting to communicate, she tugged on Jonathon’s arm as he escorted her back to her room afterwards, and mimed writing, holding an imaginary pen and scrawling on her hand.  
“Oh! Yes. Ja, ja.” They turned instead to Jonathon’s rooms. His servant bowed as they entered.  
“Good evening, your majesty. Ma’am.” Isabelle bowed her head in acknowledgement as Jonathon rummaged through his things.  
“I need something for her to write on, Felix. Where did I –”   
“Here, Sir.”  
Isabelle sat at the writing desk when they indicated for her to do so, taking up the pen eagerly, but hesitated before she wrote anything. _What do I say? I had better not mention my brothers’ curse._ She dipped the pen in ink again and brought it to the paper.  
 _Ihre Majestät, König Jonathon, recht herzlichen Dank für die Großzügigkeit in Ihrem Hause verweilen zu dürfen._  
She paused, unsure of what else to say.  
 _In Dankbarkeit, Isabelle._  
She underlined her name twice. About to hand it to him, she pulled it back and added a post-script.  
 _Ich weiß recht wenig über Varne. Ich bitte Sie herzlich mir ein bisschen über Sie und Ihr Land zu erzählen._  
Jonathon scanned the note when she passed it to him.  
“Isabelle? Your name is – die name ist Isabelle?”  
She beamed as she nodded.   
“I’m not sure what else you’ve said here,” he admitted. “Can I look it up in the morning?  
Isabelle waited for him to say something she would understand, but he just ran a hand through his hair and sighed.  
“Guten nacht, Isabelle,” he murmured eventually. He showed her back to her room. 

~~~~

Isabelle asked him in a note the next day about her starwort. They sat in the library flicking through a translating dictionary.  
“I will find a section of garden for you,” he promised. She indicated for him to write down what he was saying, and then they looked up the translation together. Her smile lit up her face when she understood.  
“But, Isabelle, why? Warum?”   
_Ich brauche sie um Faden zu spinnen._ She furrowed her brow as she searched for the translation. Eventually she wrote again.  
 _I need a thread to spin._  
“Warum?”  
She shook her head  
 _Nein._   
Jonathon was insistent. “Warum spinnen?”  
 _Bitte frag mich das nicht... Please ask me that not._  
He scratched his neck.  
“Well, alright. Ja. You can spinnen your Faden if you want.”  
 _Ich weiss nicht wie das geht._ Jonathon could understand that without her writing a translation, and tried not to laugh. When she looked at him, hurt, his smile died.  
“Es tut mir leid.” Taking the book from her small hands, he flicked through it for a moment, then wrote on her paper. _Ich finde person unterrichtet._  
“I have to go now,” he told her, touching her shoulder when he stood up to leave.

She spent the rest of the day in solitude until evening, when she shared another awkward dinner with Jonathon and his mother. When he returned her to her room, she continued poring over the translating book until late in the night.

 

~~~~

He found Isabelle the next morning, and gave her a gift – a thick book of blank pages bound together, with a pocket for a pencil in its cover.   
“You can take it with you so you can talk any time,” he suggested pointlessly.  
She grinned and opened it to the first page.  
 _THANKYOU_ , she spelled out carefully. Underneath, she wrote _Erzähl mir ein bisschen über deine Familie._  
“Uh, alright.” He drew a stick figure wearing a crown. Underneath that he wrote _Father – King Edward._  
A stick figure wearing a dress appeared beside the king, and was titled _Mother – Queen Adelaide._ He drew a smaller figure below them titled _Jon_. He grimaced as he crossed out his father, then drew a crown on his own figure, editing the title to read _King Jonathon_. Isabelle wrote the translations for his words beside them, looking to him for confirmation.  
“Ja. That’s it,” he said. “Do you have any brothers or sisters?” He flicked through their book. “Bruder? Schwester?”   
She shook her head as tears suddenly pricked at her eyes. _Deine Mutter mag mich nicht._  
“Oh. Well... no, I don’t think that’s true. Nein. She... well, maybe she doesn't trust you, because she doesn’t know who you are. You mustn't take it personally.” He set about translating himself.  
 _Warum vertraust du mir dann?_  
Jonathon thought about it a while.  
“When I met you, you were scared but you were proud, and I admire that.” He jotted down _scared, proud, admire_ , for Isabelle. “And you’re still quite young; it wouldn’t be right to leave you.” He added _young_ to the paper.  
“Anyway, I have someone to teach you how to spin. Um, person unterrichtet? For spinning?” She smiled and nodded, tapping the _thankyou_ she had written earlier.

Jonathon had told the lady who would teach Isabelle to spin that the girl could not speak, and did not understand much of the language. Thankfully the middle-aged woman was patient and spent the rest of the day silently showing Isabelle what to do. For the next month the girl did little else but spin wool, study her translation book, and tend to her new patch of starwort.


	9. Chapter 9

Jonathon came to her one afternoon, as he often did, and she stopped her spinning carefully, standing to curtsey as she smiled.   
“Isabelle, good afternoon. How are you?”  
 _I am good, thankyou_ , she wrote proudly. _How are you?_  
“Oh, you know. It’s tiring being a squire and a king.”  
 _I understand._ She almost told him that Frederick had often moaned to her about the duties of a crown prince, or that her father was the hardest-working man she knew, but could not. She tried to move her hand but it remained firmly where it was until she determined to write something else. For the thousandth time she wished her brothers could come to her again and tell her more about what she had to do. Eventually she wrote, _you are good king._ He chuckled.  
“I’m not really, but I appreciate the thought. Mother is forever telling me what I need to do better.”  
 _Does she cruel at you?_ Jonathon hesitated, and corrected her grammar quietly.  
“No, of course not,” he whispered. “Really, I think she just misses my father. He died when I was nine. I’m sure Mother was different before that.”  
They sat in silence a while, until Isabelle put her pencil to paper again.  
 _Change talking – I need to make “faser” to make thread.._  
“No, sorry, you lost me. What?”  
Before I spin. Sorry, I do not know the word.  
“Wool?”  
 _Yes, but my plant._  
“Oh, oh, you want to use your plants to make fibre to spin?”  
Isabelle bounced and nodded, grinning infectiously. Jonathon reached out to tuck a curl of hair behind her ear.   
“I’ll find someone to help you.”  
 _Thankyou very much, your maje–_. Jonathon grabbed her hand even before she had finished writing.  
“No, no. Please, call me Jon.”

~~~~

The process to obtain fibre from a plant was more complicated than Isabelle had expected, and by Jon’s birthday a week later, she was still retting what she had harvested in the little garden the King had given her, and practising spinning after dinner. He invited her to the party that evening, but she declined.  
 _I am sorry. I do not think I will belong there._  
“No, it’ll be great. My friends are good men, and their girlfriends will like you, I know.”  
 _I am not good at conversation. I will ruin everybody’s night._  
“Please, Isabelle. I want them to meet you – and it would be good for you to relax.”  
 _NO. I need to do this. I am sorry. Have fun._  
Jon sighed.  
“Alright.” He held her head gently between his hands and kissed her hair. “I hope your spinning goes well.” Isabelle nodded absently, already working the pedal to the wheel. 

“Is your little vagabond pet not joining us tonight, Jonathon?”  
The king bristled but did not rise to his mother’s cruel words. He replied in an even voice after a moment.  
“Isabelle does not want to intrude on my time with my friends, mother.”  
“She has intruded enough already.”  
“No, she has not intruded at all. I invited her to live here. I am the king, and you will respect my guests.”  
Adelaide narrowed her eyes.  
“Jonathon. Behave yourself. I’m telling you –”  
“Yes, mother, I know what you’re telling me. Now let me tell you: stop treating me like a child.” He bowed his head sarcastically at her, and turned away slightly to talk to his friends.

~~~~

In the summer Isabelle’s starwort grew profusely, threatening to escape the borders of the space she had been given.

_Today is my birthday_ , Isabelle informed the King one mild September evening. He turned to her in surprise.  
“What, really? Why didn’t you tell me sooner? I would’ve bought you a present, had a party.”  
 _You have given me so much already._  
“No, I really must get you a birthday present. Tell me, what would you like?”  
 _Only more space to grow starwort. That is all I need._  
Jonathon laughed tiredly. “Of course.”

~~~~

Richard could not leave the capital to search for his sons and daughter. He refused to accept that they might be dead, and sent a band of men to search every house in the country.  
“I don’t care if it takes five years,” he said grimly. “Just find them.”

Elizabeth came to him at the Midwinter Ball, and he asked her to dance with him so they could speak.   
“Uncle Rich,” she began hesitantly. “I know this is going to sound crazy, so please forgive me. I think Samuel is not far away.” He gripped her arm tightly.  
“What do you mean?”  
“Sometimes someone taps on my window in the night-time, and when I go to it and look out, there is a flower on the outside sill. I don’t believe it’s anyone else here at court, Sir.”  
The king glanced at his wife. She sat in the seat beside his, a hand tracing lightly over her stomach. He knew she was wondering if she was pregnant; he was desperately hoping she wasn’t.

~~~~

Isabelle felt like she was living two lives – one filled with harvesting, threshing, carding, and spinning starwort, and the other with moisturising creams, hairdressers, make-up, and ball gowns. To please Jonathon, she set down her projects most evenings to be transformed into a courtier. She made friends with some of the other noble young women, and learned to jot down comments on their conversation fast enough to include herself. It was difficult sometimes to not laugh out loud. Jon was concerned she did not enjoy herself.  
 _Don’t worry. I enjoy myself very much. You have very nice friends._  
“But you never laugh; we barely even see you smile.”   
It took her some time to write a reply; as ever, she was unable to write anything regarding the spell.  
 _I know. I’m sorry if it upsets you. I can’t help it._  
Jonathon looked ashamed.  
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything.”  
She reached out to cup his cheek in her hand as she would to comfort a brother. Rubbing his skin gently with her thumb, she smiled at him. Jon took her hand and kissed it.  
“My Silent Belle, what would I do without you?” Her chest squeezed suddenly, to her surprise, and the king perceived an expression of discomfort cross her face.  
“Are you alright?”  
She nodded hurriedly, acutely aware of her hand in his. 

~~~~

“It’s your birthday next week,” Jon told her as they spent time together over lunch. They both were busy all day, but determined to eat lunch together at least three times a week.  
 _No, really? Are you sure? What a surprise!_ Isabelle pulled a face as she spun the book for the king to read. Jon laughed out loud, but then moaned quietly and squeezed the back of his neck.  
“Yeah, I know you know. I also bet you don’t want to celebrate it.”  
 _No. Is your neck sore?_  
“It is, and we are.”  
Isabelle stood up from her chair, walking behind the king to massage his neck and shoulders.  
“Mm… Don’t ignore me, Silent Belle. I’m throwing you a ball whether you like it or not, so you can either put up with it or help me make it even better.”  
With one hand still on his back, Isabelle leant over his shoulder to take her pencil and book to respond. He could smell her perfume.  
 _A dinner party, with the twelve of us, not a court ball, I beg you. She was referring to Jon’s six closest friends and the partners of four of them._  
“Will I still get to dance with you?” Isabelle felt him breathe.  
 _Of course. You know I love dancing with you._ Blushing, she straightened, and continued to work out the tension in the king’s neck.  
“Hmm. Ow ow ow, there.”

On the afternoon of her birthday, Jon came to her room, and she put down her spinning. She looked at the king expectantly, waiting for him to speak. Instead, he held out a small book.  
 _ **Are you ready for your birthday party?**_ It read. Belle looked at him, confused.  
 _Are you teasing me?_  
He shook his head seriously, and held out his arm for her to take. When they entered the ballroom, their friends were all waiting by the door with small books of their own, all bearing greetings and birthday wishes.  
 _I love you all!_ She scrawled hurriedly. _Was this his Majesty’s idea?_  
Everyone nodded, and she pressed her lips together as she had learned to do whenever she wanted to laugh.  
Conversation over dinner went slowly, as the young people tried to write fast enough to keep up with themselves. More than once one of the young men laughed out loud and were immediately sternly rebuked by their friends, as the ladies smiled tight-lipped, their self-control in check.

When the meal was finished, Jonathon asked her if she would dance with him.  
 _Of course_ , she wrote, her heart beating fast.  
Isabelle was used to Jon chatting to her as they danced, and she would reply when she could by nodding or shaking her head. With him as silent as her, however, there was little to preoccupy them as they danced. After a number of group dances, the musicians began playing a waltz, and Jon took her hand in one of his, resting his other on her waist. She laid her free hand over his shoulder, and looked into his face for a moment, then looked away. His hand held her chin gently and tipped it up so she looked at him again, and he smiled warmly. They began moving around the dance floor, staring into each other’s eyes. Belle began absently toying with his hair and Jon slipped his hand around to the centre of her lower back, pulling her right against him. Blushing, she turned her head to rest her cheek against his chest. When she felt his lips press against the skin of her forehead, Isabelle looked at him in surprise. He was staring at her with an expression she couldn’t decipher.


	10. Chapter 10

_I’m worried about the future, Isabelle admitted to him the next day._  
“Why? What about?”  
She grimaced and waved her pen around as she thought.  
 _It’s embarrassing, you know. Having everything I want to say written down._  
“You know you can tell me.”  
She exhaled slowly.  
 _I worry about not having a home to go to._  
“Is this not home enough? I don’t want you to ever leave, Belle.”  
 _I am just a burden on you. I will wear out my welcome, and then I will have nowhere._  
“You’re really not, but... where did you live before I found you? Could you not go ba–”  
 _NO_   
She threw down her pen and hid her face in her hands as she sobbed silently. Jon gingerly patted and rubbed her back.  
“Well, like I said. I want you to stay here, so there’s nothing for you to worry about.”  
Isabelle groped blindly for the pen with one hand. The king retrieved it for her and she asked in trembling letters,   
_Why?_  
“Because I need you? To, uh, to talk to, I mean. I think that –” he stopped as she rested a hand on his arm. She motioned for him to wait, then wrote something, hiding it from view so he couldn’t read it until she had finished. Isabelle turned the book to face him, her features scrunched nervously.  
 _I need to say this. Please forgive me if I am wrong. I think we are dancing around something here that you’re nervous to say and I’m terrified to write. Do_  
Jon looked from the book up to her.  
“You didn’t finish,” he said, his voice hoarse. Isabelle bit her lip.  
 _I know. I – But do you know what I am saying?_  
“I think so.” Jon slipped one hand over her shoulder, the other wiping away the last traces of tears.  
“Was it something like this?” he asked as his hand continued to caress her face. Isabelle nodded slightly, and gingerly brought her hands to his chest. When his thumb grazed her lip she clenched her hands, grasping his shirt. Leaning towards him, her gaze flickered between his eyes and his mouth.   
“Do you know how long I’ve waited for this?” he breathed, and she shook her head before she brushed her lips against his. Sitting back, she searched his eyes.   
“Come here,” he begged, and she leaned towards him again, her eyes closing softly. Jon captured her lips, teasing them until she pulled away, gasping. Writing in her book, she told him,   
_You make me forget to breathe._  
He chuckled.

~~~~

Their courtship changed little about their friendship; they were as easy with each other as they had ever been. Jon endured a little ribbing from his friends, but it was all in good humour. Despite their best efforts, they could keep it a secret from his mother for only so long. When Adelaide let herself into Isabelle’s rooms uninvited and unannounced, however, Isabelle itched to give the Dowager Queen a good dressing-down. She resisted, using all her willpower, and wrote in her neatest script,  
 _My apologies for not hearing you knock._ She held the book at arm’s length towards the king’s mother, a stubborn look on her face as she silently dared the older woman to admit to barging in. Adelaide ignored her text.  
“This is unacceptable. My son is the king, and he will _not_ be involved with some homeless wench.”  
 _Your son is an adult, and wiser than you give him credit for._  
“Do you dare imply that you know Jonathon better than I?”  
 _I would not suppose to comment on how well you know him. I am simply telling you what I know._  
“Why? How well _do_ you know him? Have you already bewitched and seduced him?”  
Isabelle gaped at Adelaide.  
 _No. Leave my rooms at once._  
“They are not _yours_ , you impertinent little whore. You own nothing. You _are_ nothing.”  
Isabelle knew full well that her bloodline was much bluer than Adelaide’s, who could not name her maternal grandfather. She had never cared for such distinctions before, but in such a situation she wished she could reveal her true heritage. Adelaide would certainly have appeared much more welcoming from the very beginning if she knew who her son’s guest was.   
_Honestly, my lady, I do not care what you think of me. It is of no consequence. I know myself and – although it is not your business – I remain pure. I am proud of my conduct. Can you say the same of your own? Now please leave me be. I need to continue my work._  
The king’s mother made a theatrical little noise which Isabelle assumed was meant to convey horror, and left her. She tried to spin, but her hands shook and she could not make a steady thread. Setting it aside, she left to find Jonathon. Felix answered the door to his sitting room, and let her in with a small bow, before knocking on the adjoining door to the king’s bedroom and opening it slightly.  
“Sir, Miss Isabelle is here to see you.”  
She could not hear Jon’s reply, but did not have to wait long for Felix to return to her to relay it.  
“Ma’am, His Majesty will not be a moment. He is... making himself presentable.”  
 _I don’t need him to get pretty just on my account._  
Felix laughed merrily.  
“Don’t fret, little one. Jonathon had retired to bed early tonight. He’s getting dressed again.”  
 _Is he unwell?_  
“Just tired.”  
“I am _not_ tired, Felix,” Jon retorted, joining them as he tucked his shirt in. “It’s going to be a long day tomorrow, is all.”  
 _I can go,_ Isabelle offered.  
“No, no, stay. It’s good to see you, Belle.”  
 _You too._ She hesitated, unsure what to tell him about the incident with his mother. He could see the stress on her face, and cupped her cheek in his hand.  
“What is it?”  
 _Your mother came to my rooms this evening._  
“Oh?”  
 _She was angry at me, because of us._  
Jonathon growled in disgust. “She has _got_ to stop trying to ruin my life.”  
 _You’re not the one she’s trying to evict from the palace and probably from all of Varne._  
“Beautiful, if she could kick you out, she’d be kicking me out too, because I will go anywhere you go. But I swear, I will never let that happen.”  
 _I love you too._  
He kissed her warmly, and Felix silently found somewhere else to be. When they broke the kiss, nudging noses gently, Jon took her hand in both of his. Isabelle could see him trying to form words, thinking of what to say. She squeezed his hand and smiled at him encouragingly. Taking a deep breath, the king looked into her eyes.  
“Isabelle, would you do me the great honour... that is, will you...” He swallowed hard.   
“I love you more than anything. Will you marry me?”  
She gaped at him for a moment, before she remembered her manners and shut her mouth. He watched her carefully as he waited for a reply.  
“Uh, Belle?”  
Isabelle grabbed her book.  
 _I want to do this properly. Yes! Yes! I am the happiest person in the world, ever!_

Adelaide was outraged by their engagement, but Jonathon was the king and she could not stop him. Isabelle wished more than anything that her father could know his only daughter was getting married, but for fear of his new wife she had never sent him a single letter. Every now and then news of her father or his country trickled across the border to Varne despite a lack of relations between peoples, and she yearned to hear that Richard had banished Valerie. As the date for her wedding drew closer, however, she resigned herself to the fact that she would not have him at her wedding. Jon found her weeping as she spun one day.  
“Belle, what is it?”  
 _When I was younger, I always imagined my father would give me away at my wedding._  
“That’s very understandable, my love.”  
 _I miss him so much._  
“One day, my silent Belle, will you tell me your story?”  
She hesitated.  
 _One day. But not today. I love you so much. Please try to understand._


	11. Chapter 11

Weaving starwort thread felt different to weaving cotton. She fouled the set-up irreparably a few times before she got a feel for it. On the day of their wedding she tucked a square of the cloth into her dress, and it comforted her to think of her brothers. Isabelle hoped they were nearby. She hoped they approved of Jonathon.  
After the ceremony and the following ball, Jon brought his blushing bride to his rooms, kissing her deeply. When he began to fondle her chest, she bit her lip to keep from making a sound.  
 _Let me change out of this amazing dress._  
“Don’t be long.”  
 _I wouldn't dream of it._  
She kissed him again before slipping into her private rooms, where a maid helped her remove her wedding gown and gave her a simple silk shift. Within a few minutes Isabelle was back in Jon’s arms, and the nightgown was on the floor.  
 _We need to talk about tomorrow night,_ she had told him the day before. Jon mumbled something about figuring it out later.  
 _I don’t think we’ll want to keep stopping for me to write something._  
“Well. I suppose not.”  
 _Just... I love you, but I’m nervous. Please go slowly and keep talking to me. Tell me what you want, and what you want to do..._ She was blushing bright red, as was he.  
“I promise.”  
Jonathon kept his word, breathing a running commentary of what he was doing as he caressed her body with hands and lips. He faltered only when Isabelle, stirred up by his words and his touch, grasped him gently. When he fell silent after stammering out a few syllables, she looked at him reproachfully and indicated for him to continue.  
“Uh, please. _Please _, Belle. Keep going.”__  
Isabelle did so, readily following his directions, until Jon abruptly stopped her.  
“I don’t want to finish just yet,” he explained breathlessly, and slipped a hand between her legs. Isabelle bit her lip again, then clenched her teeth to resist making a sound as he stroked her. The king noticed her expression which resembled pain, and stopped to ask if she was alright. In response, she put her hands over his and rubbed herself with his fingers.  
“Like this?” he asked. She nodded, and guided him to the bundle of nerves that made her whole body twitch. When he shifted his body over hers, Isabelle lifted her head to kiss him. Jonathon pressed into her slowly and she gasped as he filled her. Letting her breath out raggedly, she smiled up at her husband.

__~~~~_ _

___Now that she was the Queen, Isabelle felt she had little to fear from Lady Adelaide. Her mother-in-law was barely civil to her in public, and still hissed insults at her in private, but Isabelle made sure to avoid seeing her as much as possible. Her work on her brother’s starwort shirts went slowly, for although Jonathon was sympathetic to her compulsion to make them, Isabelle was obliged to take on many duties in her new role. Unable to explain to what end she made the fibre, thread, and fabric, she could not fully convey its importance to her husband._  
The newlyweds spent almost the entire summer touring the country, introducing Jonathon’s new Queen to the people, and showing her the land she now shared dominion of. It was towards the end of their travels that Isabelle discovered she was expecting a child. She tried to tell Jon, but her hand shook too much with excitement. Instead she grabbed both his hands and pressed them against her still-flat stomach.  
“My Silent Belle!” he exclaimed. “Are you saying – are you pregnant?”  
She nodded ecstatically and threw herself at him, kissing him hard. 

___The news reached the capital before they did, of course. Adelaide was waiting for them in their private chambers with a black look on her face._  
“I would talk to my son,” she said to Isabelle as soon as they entered the room late in the afternoon. “Leave us.”  
“Mother, you will address your queen with respect,” Jonathon told her sternly. “We are tired, and will speak with you tomorrow.”  
“This will not be tolerated! I will not simper and grovel to a homeless child.”  
“Isabelle is not homeless. She lives here. She is queen _here_ , and even if that were not enough, she is my wife and I love her. I am your son and I am asking you – I am your king, and I am telling you; treat her with respect.”  
Glowing with adoration for Jon, Isabelle jotted him a note.  
 _Thankyou, my love. I will bathe and go to sleep. Wake me when you come to bed._  
“You don’t have to do that,”  
She kissed him lightly in reply and left.  
“That was abominably rude, mother.”  
“How dare you let her get with child?”  
“How _dare_ I?”  
“She has bewitched you, made you marry her. But how can we annul this marriage if you have a child by her? You must get rid of it immediately.”  
Jonathon quivered with rage.  
“Get out.”  
“Jonathon–”  
“Leave, right now.”  
“You’re not thinking clearly.”  
“GET OUT!” he roared, loud enough that guards outside the door rushed in.  
“Take her out of my quarters, and don’t _ever_ let her in without my express permission again.”  
“Sorry, my lady,” the guards rumbled as they escorted her out.  
Jon could not relax, and gave up trying to sleep as he was keeping Isabelle awake. He paced their drawing-room, picking up papers and throwing them down before he’d read even a sentence. It was a while before he noticed Isabelle standing in the doorway.  
“How long have you been there?”  
She held her forefinger and thumb about half an inch apart. Not long.  
“I’m really sorry.”  
 _Don’t be._ Isabelle hesitated. _Jonathon, my mother died while giving birth, as did her mother. I’m scared of... I can’t die yet. If she died in childbirth, her brothers would never be released from their curse. I also will need a quiet labour. You know how important it is to me that I don’t make a sound. Having a child cannot change that._  
“I can find someone to help you.”  
 _Thankyou._ She nuzzled his shoulder, kissing him softly. She had been able to include her first hint about her predicament in her writing, and she hoped it would not go unnoticed. He asked her about it when they lay in bed together, and she reached for the notebook where she kept it on a stand next to the bed.  
“You said something before, about not making a noise.”  
 _I did. I’ve heard that some people can have quiet births if they have the right people attending them._  
“Except, you made it seem like it’s a _choice_ that you don’t speak.”  
She was unable to write a response, and looked imploringly at him.  
“Come on, Belle. Am I supposed to believe that you haven’t said a single thing in more than three years, because you didn’t _want_ to?”  
It took her a while to formulate a response that she was able to write.  
 _I wish every minute that I could speak to you properly._  
“I wish I understood you, beautiful.” 

__~~~~_ _

___A spry older woman was introduced to Isabelle the next week. She shook Isabelle’s hand lightly, before circling the young queen slowly._  
“Majesty. You have a spell of some kind attached to you: are you aware of this?”  
Isabelle paled, but then nodded slightly.  
 _How do you know?_  
“I can tell. That is enough. Your husband tells me your muteness is voluntary, though.”  
 _He does not understand._  
“Nice answer. Very sideways. I’m going to assume your silence is related to the spell. Am I right?”  
She could not reply, and the older woman squinted at her.  
“You would tell me if I was wrong, surely.”  
 _I’m terribly sorry, but who exactly are you?_  
“Hmm. Of course. You told His Majesty that you would like a silent birth, and that you were worried about your health in childbirth. I am here to help.”  
 _Oh! Thankyou! Please, call me Isabelle. What shall I call you?_  
“I’m Beth.” 

___Beth very quickly became Isabelle’s constant companion, teaching her to strengthen her stomach – her core muscles, Beth called them. She critiqued the queen’s posture when she sat to weave, and instructed her on how to breathe. Each morning and evening they went through a stretch, balance, and strength routine that left Isabelle envious of the woman who was almost old enough to be her grandmother. As months passed and her unborn child grew, Isabelle gained confidence in her changing body. Jonathon noticed, as did their friends._  
“It’s like you’re a different person,” he commented over breakfast.  
 _I feel like a different person. She replied. But hopefully not too different._  
“No, not at all. I like it.”  
 _You should join us. Surely the king can do as well as a pregnant woman and an old lady._  
“Perhaps I will.”  
She pressed her lips together in her silent laugh when he strained to do as well as her, but he tried again the next day and the next. Eventually Isabelle’s stomach began interfering with her routines, and Beth had to tell her how to modify them. They began spending more time on meditative breathing, discussing and practicing her labour. Her birth pains started during a morning routine, and she could not complete it, but the pains came and went for the duration of the day and throughout the night. The next morning her waters broke and Beth encouraged her to keep walking, pacing the room between pains. Eventually her child was ready to be born, and Isabelle was tired, proud, and thankful when Beth gave her son to her, clasping him gently to her chest. They bathed, and then Jonathon came in to meet their son as he fed.  
“You’re amazing, Belle.”  
She blushed.  
 _Would you mind letting us sleep, my love? I’m so sorry, but I’m so tired._  
“No problem.” He kissed her forehead, and their son’s. “I’ll see you in the morning.” 


	12. Chapter 12

Isabelle slept soundly, but woke to a taste of blood in her mouth. She brought her hand to her mouth to wipe it, but it too was slick with blood. Horrified, she checked between her thighs, her first thought that she may be bleeding out as her mother had, but her legs were clean. Satisfied she was not injured, Isabelle looked to the bassinet beside her bed. It too was spattered in blood, and her son was not lying inside. She panted and gasped, unable to breathe in her panic. Looking around desperately, her eyes locked onto the bell-cords Jonathon had had installed into her room. If she pulled the red cord, a bell would ring in the hallway outside her rooms, where a guard could hear it. If she pulled the blue one, it would trigger a bell in Jonathon’s own rooms. He wanted her to be able to call for help without the use of her voice, but so far she not made use of them. Isabelle yanked both repeatedly, until both the king and a number of guards burst into her room. Jonathon raced to his young wife and held her close with no regard to the blood that got onto him and his clothes. Running his hands over her face and her body, checking for injury, he asked if she was alright. Gasping for air, she shook her head.  
“Are you hurt?”  
She shook her head again, and coughed harshly. Jonathon turned briefly to a guard.  
“She’s too distressed to breathe properly. I need to give her something to calm her.” The man nodded and left quickly. Jonathon grabbed Isabelle’s book and passed it to her.  
“What is it?”  
 _baby_  
He looked at the bassinet properly for the first time.  
“Where is he?”  
Isabelle could only respond with more desperate gulps for air.  
“Did someone attack you? Did someone... attack _him_? Did someone _take_ him?”  
Isabelle managed to shrug as Beth entered the room. She stroked the Queen’s head reassuringly for just a moment, before pulling the stopper out of a tiny vial.  
“Breathe this,’ she commanded, and Isabelle breathed shallowly.  
“No, child, with your nose.” She sniffed slightly, then curled over as she coughed and coughed. When she managed to stop, Beth held the vial under her nose again, and she inhaled more deeply. She coughed a few more times, inhaled the potent mix again, and could then breathe more readily.  
 _I don’t know what happened my baby is gone I don’t know where he is you need to find my baby is he hurt? I don’t think the blood is mi–_  
She grasped the vial and held it under her nose, breathing raggedly. Beth tapped the king on the shoulder and drew him away slightly.  
“Sir, that’s a lot of blood. If it’s the prince’s, I... I don’t know that he would survive.”  
“It must be a trick,” Jon said numbly.  
“She probably ate it,” he heard his mother say from behind him, and red-hot rage blurred his vision as he heard Belle trying to control her weeping.  
“You are _not allowed_ in here.”  
“Feral children living in trees have no idea of civilised society. She’s eaten your own child, and still you cling to her!”  
“Mother, you go _too far_. Isabelle would never – how can you even suggest such a thing? She is the sweetest person I know, and if she could only talk you would know it.”  
“My dear boy, then ask her where your son is.”  
“She doesn’t _know_.”  
“She lies! If she spoke you would know her for a liar, which is why she hides behind written words; spells to draw you in and blind you to her evil.”  
To his horror Jon saw a few of the guards eyeing Isabelle suspiciously.  
“You may leave,” he told them sternly, “and take that woman with you.”

They could not find their son, and their relationship strained under the weight of their grief. They each threw themselves into their work, and slept in separate beds. Well after midnight, when her son would have been three months old, Isabelle penned a short note to Jon. Then she gently rang the bell for him, just once. If he was asleep, she didn’t want to disturb him. He came to her almost immediately, though, and kissed her habitually.  
“You should be asleep,” he said.  
You should too, she replied, and handed him the note. The king unfolded it to read it.  
 _Jonathon,  
I love you so much. I should not have retreated into myself in this time – I should have leant on you. I beg you might lean on me too, and we can support each other. I miss you._  
Refusing to let the tears welling in his eyes spill over, Jon nodded and drew his wife towards him for a kiss.

Isabelle began tentatively leaving her rooms and spending time with their friends again. Each morning began with exercise routines with Beth and Jonathon, and each night she made a point of talking frankly with her husband. It was not long before she fell pregnant a second time. 

~~~~

Elizabeth could not convince herself that Samuel was not nearby. She continued to receive flowers outside her second-story windowsill weekly. Although they had spent only a little time together, along with a year of feverish letter-writing while he and his siblings were in hiding, she felt bound to him. Not yet twenty-one, she felt like a widow, and had retreated from society, spending all her time in and around her home. A small flock of swans had taken up residence in her family’s gardens some time ago, and one was particularly tame, allowing her to stroke its back and feed it from her hand. It would preen her hair when she sat by it to read or draw, and she had long come to think of the creature as her pet. As the weather grew cooler and the days shorter, she talked to it often, confiding to it the deepest of her worries and fears, and the faintest of her hopes.   
“I can’t stop telling myself that he’ll come back one day. I don’t even know if I really believe that any more, not after so long, but at the same time... I’ve already given up four years, waiting for him. What’s a few more? Oh, at least I have you, Beautiful. You’re so handsome, you are.” She ran her fingers through the bird’s feathers. Seeing how low the sun was getting, she started.  
“Oh! It’s nearly sunset already! Goodnight, Swan. I’ll see you tomorrow,” she said, stroking the creature’s head gently. But the bird took hold of the hem of her dress in its beak to keep her where she was, and demanded preening. Elizabeth laughed merrily.  
“Very well! Five more minutes, but then I must go inside.” No sooner than she had sat down again, however, the swan rose and waddled a few steps away, then turned back to her. The young woman thought that it was looking her in the eyes as it slowly extended its wings fully.  
“What are you doing?”  
It began beating its wings hard and fast, and all at once its feathers fluttered off, picked up and floating in the gusts caused by the flapping. They settled slowly, and a large figure stood up from crouching.  
“Please, don’t be alarmed,” he said, and Elizabeth was struck dumb as she recognised Samuel. She stared at him as he approached her.  
“Liz? Are you alright?”  
“What just... how is this possible?” she whispered, rising to her feet shakily and backing away.   
“It’s complicated. Please don’t run away; I haven’t got long.”  
Hesitantly she lifted her hands to his outstretched ones, and when they touched she lunged into his embrace. He was leaner than she remembered: all muscle and sinew.  
“How is my father?”   
She nodded into his shoulder.  
“He is well, although Valerie is still his wife.”  
Sam sighed.  
“Well. I needn’t ask how you’ve been.”  
Elizabeth’s face coloured bright red.  
“Oh, goodness, that was always you, wasn’t it?” He nodded and kissed her lightly, and her head swam. She smiled up at him, but he looked sombre.  
“I need you to promise me something, very seriously.”  
“Anything.”  
“Don’t tell anyone about me. _No-one_ can know.”  
Elizabeth blanched.   
“I –”  
“It could ruin everything. I shouldn’t even have let you know, but I couldn’t stand you to be so unhappy.”  
“Are the other swans your brothers?”  
“Yes. Promise me.”  
“What of your sister?”  
“She is alright, but – yes. She is well, although a long distance from here. Please, promise me.”  
“I promise.”  
“Thankyou. Listen, I’m going to turn back in a few minutes.”  
“Can’t you stay with me?”  
“Not like this. I’ll be here every day though, as your swan.”  
“Will you become _you_ again tomorrow?”  
He shook his head.  
“It’s too risky; I can’t let anyone see me.” Tears pricked her eyes, and her lips wobbled. Samuel caressed her face until she calmed.  
“Can anything be done? I need you back.”  
“It’s already begun. If all goes well, I will be free of the spell in less than two years.”   
“So long!”  
“All I need you to do is stay strong. Talk to me. Wait.”  
“Samuel,” she breathed, and he smiled encouragingly. “I love you,” she confessed. He glanced at the sun, already starting to dip below the horizon.  
“And I you. You should go inside now. Turning back into a swan is... not pleasant. You don’t need to see it.”  
“No. No, I’ll stay.” She pulled him to her, kissing him hard. His strong arms wrapped around her and for the briefest of moments she was blissfully happy. Then Sam groaned in sudden pain, managing to push her away as a spasm wracked his body.  
“Turn away!’  
Shaking her head, she watched in horror as he writhed and twisted, shrinking, stretching, and crying out while sprouting feathers. In the space of a few seconds he had become a swan again. Elizabeth knelt and held her arms out to him, and he submitted to having her hug him and cry a little. Eventually he wriggled out of her hold and flew away. With mixed emotions she turned back to the house.


	13. Chapter 13

When she gave birth to her second son, Isabelle was filled with hope. She and Jonathon slept with the infant between them, but in the middle of the night woke with a start. Blood was spattered over her from her face to her stomach, and all down her arms to her hands. Their son was not beside her. The queen shook her husband’s shoulder, staining his clothes, and he woke, seeing with horror the anguish on her face.  
“Shit! What happened?”  
Isabelle shrugged helplessly as tears cut clean tracks down her cheeks.

Their child could not be found, and the king’s mother stopped repeating her accusations only when Jon threatened to banish her, but he could already see people watching his wife with mistrust. He had them replaced. More worrying to Jon than the opinions of his staff, were Belle’s nightmares. They left her exhausted and deeply disturbed.   
_What if it was me?_ She asked him more than once.   
“It was not. This has been done to you, not by you. My mother’s lies have gotten to you.”  
 _In my dreams, I – I can see myself doing it, but I can’t stop myself._  
She wept inconsolably, and Jon could do little to comfort her.

Unable to cope with going out into society, Isabelle threw herself into working on her brothers’ shirts. There was a year left in which to finish them, and she felt confident of achieving that. The only comfort she could give herself was that when she had completed, she could talk with her husband more easily, and they could mourn together more fully.   
When Isabelle became pregnant for the third time she fell into a deep depression, despite Jon ordering a massive increase in security around her. She was convinced that this child, too, would be taken from her, and could often not muster up the energy to even get out of bed. Her brother’s shirts remained a roll of uncut cloth for a long time. She was frightened out of her slumber one afternoon by a repeated tapping on her window. Alarmed, she peered out from the edge of the curtain, surprised and relieved to see a swan waiting patiently. Opening the curtains and window, she allowed her brother to sit comfortably in the windowsill.   
_IT’S SO GOOD TO SEE YOU_ , she wrote clearly, then cursed her forgetfulness. She had not had to use her native language since she had properly learned Jonathon’s.  
 _ES TUT SO GUT DICH NACH SO EINER LANGEN ZEIT ZU SEHEN_ she held the paper up for her brother to read. He nodded.  
 _Bitte komm heute Abend zurück und rede mit mir. Ich versichere dir, dass wir nicht beunruhigt sein warden._  
The bird nodded again, then reached towards her face to give her an approximation of a kiss on her cheek. He turned and flew away. Feeling more vitalised than she had in a long time, she bathed and dressed, then gave very specific instructions that she could not be disturbed by anyone, not even her husband the king, until half an hour after sunset. Two swans alighted in her window that evening, and Isabelle waited impatiently while they brushed the feathers off each other to see which of her brothers had come to her. She could quickly see that it was Frederick and Alexander, and kissed them repeatedly. They were both fit young men, and while Freddie had changed a little in five-and-a-half years, Alex was barely recognisable as he approached his eighteenth birthday to the child she had sworn to deliver from the curse. Feeling her child move within her, the overwhelming emotions overcame her and she wept. Her brothers embraced her.  
“Come now, little sister,” Freddie told her. “We haven’t got long. You must know that time is running out. We will be nearby until then.”  
Isabelle nodded, then remembered something. She walked as fast as she could on her swollen legs to get a ribbon. Wrapping it around her brother’s chests, she measured them roughly so that she could make shirts the right size.  
“Just remember we love you, Belle,” Alex said softly. “I hope you haven’t forgotten us in your new life.”  
 _Never. I love Jonathon very much, but you are my brothers. I think of you every day._  
“You mustn’t have long until the baby is due,” her youngest brother commented, wanting to cheer her up, but she screwed her face up in disgust.  
 _I don’t want to talk about it. I have no doubt that this will be taken from me, just as my two sons were. I do not envy you your time under this curse, but mine has not been easy either._  
Alex glanced at Freddy, who looked impassive.  
“I know about that. I am so sorry, little Belle.”  
They conversed a little while longer, until the setting of the sun turned them both back into swans. Isabelle carefully burnt the paper she had used to talk with them, then looked at her room and sighed heavily. Everything was covered in feathers. At this stage in her pregnancy, she could not clean up even half of it.

Jonathon came to her that night. She told him some wild swans had accidentally gotten into her room, and he thought nothing of it.  
“I’ve got some bad news,” he confessed. “I need to go away for a little while. I’d send someone else – _anyone_ else, at this time, but it is honestly unavoidable. If you weren’t pregnant, you would be expected to come with me as well.”  
 _How long will you be gone?_  
“I will leave next week, and be gone for six weeks – maybe eight at the most.”  
 _Can you write to me?_  
“Every day.” He paused. “I know you’re not mentioning it because you’re nervous, but yes, I may be gone when you give birth. I swear; I will do my best to be home before that.”  
 _It does not matter whether you are here or not. I will have my baby stolen again._  
“You can’t know that.”  
 _I know it._

~~~~

Isabelle resumed work on her brother’s shirts. She cut out every piece she would need, then realised she needed thread to sew the pieces together. Returning to spinning was like visiting an old friend, and she enjoyed the challenge of making this thread faultless, so she could pass it through the eye of a needle smoothly. A week after Jonathon left, she began sewing. Her baby began to impede her work soon after that, and though she had expected to not give birth for nearly a month, she knew it would not be long. There were multiple times through the next fortnight when she thought she may be going into labour, but then the feeling would pass and she could bathe, nap, and return to work, as time was running out. When she did truly begin labour, Jonathon was still gone and she wept as she delivered a daughter. Isabelle tried to avoid looking at her, fearing she would be taken like her brothers, but Beth would not have a bar of it, placing the babe on her chest.  
“Congratulations, Highness. She’s beautiful.”  
 _It doesn’t matter._  
“Isabelle. Feed her.”  
The queen was too worn out to do anything but obey.

While she was still mostly asleep, Isabelle’s arms shifted as they held her daughter, but closed on nothing. She frowned slightly, feeling across the bed for the infant.  
“It’s no use, child. I have her now, and Jonathon’s not here to save you this time.”  
Her frown deepened, but then sleep overtook her again for a short time.

“Girl! What have you done? Where is my granddaughter?”  
Groggily, Isabelle opened her eyes. She rubbed them with a finger to clear them, but only succeeded in spreading blood over her face. She looked at her hands in fresh horror, barely even registering the King’s mother as she continued to screech.  
“You foul demon! You ate your child – again! Guards! Guards!”  
The men rushed in, recoiling at the sight of the young queen sitting in her bed, drenched in blood.  
“She’s eaten her own baby! Take her to a cell where she can wait for judgement.”  
“But, my lady... She’s the queen.”  
“ _Now_ , unless you want to be charged with treason.”  
“Yes, ma’am,” the men replied quietly, taking hold of Isabelle.  
“Come with us, your Highness.” She wrestled desperately until she could grab her notebook, then let them drag her away. It was well into the next day before she was given clean clothes and permitted to wash.  
 _I need my sewing,_ she wrote to the jailor.   
“Highness, do you even _care_ that you’re imprisoned? Lady Adelaide has had you charged with man-eating. If you’re found guilty, you’ll be killed.”  
 _Then it is imperative that I finish my sewing. Please._  
The man shook his head sadly.  
“I’ll see what I can do.”  
When the cloth pieces were delivered to her, she sat cross-legged on her bed, and stitched. She barely slept, and only stopped to eat or relieve herself. Lady Adelaide stood outside her cell, leering at her daughter-in-law. Isabelle ignored her until she began speaking.  
“Your trial was today.” Isabelle’s head shot up and she looked questioningly at the Dowager Queen.  
“There was no point in your being there, of course. You can’t speak; how could you answer questions?”  
 _My husband the king will hear of this._  
“Nobody is above the law, least of all a feral girl. For your barbarous crime, you will be burned at the stake.”  
Isabelle gasped, and Adelaide smiled cruelly.  
“You have two days.”


	14. Chapter 14

Isabelle did not allow herself much time to worry about her sentence. She needed to finish her brother’s shirts within two days, for it would then be six years since she had undertaken this task. Beyond that, she had little care for her own life. The jailor asked her repeatedly to eat her food, but she ignored him, sewing until the last of the daylight had gone. Only then did she nibble at the meal. Late the next evening, she had only one sleeve on the last shirt still to attach. It was well into the night, and the lamp the jailor had graciously given her was sputtering out. She would finish it in the morning.

She was woken by a pair of hands grabbing her shoulders. It was a brutal-looking man, and the jailor was hovering behind him.  
“Come on. Let’s go.”  
 _One more hour, please, and I will come with you calmly._  
“No.”  
“Come on,” the jailor entreated. “What’s an hour to you?”  
 _I need to finish my sewing._  
“Well, I need to stay to schedule. Lady Adelaide was very specific.”  
Sighing, Isabelle gathered up the shirts and allowed her wrists to be shackled, thinking as she walked. Adelaide had been so insistent on blaming Isabelle for the infants’ disappearance since the start, and could only be pleased that she would now be executed for it. She followed the executioner outside, to a large square outside the palace grounds where a tall wooden platform had been built. It had a thick pole in the centre, and logs built up around it. As she approached, sticks and bundles of hay were thrown on as well. Her brothers were not yet anywhere nearby. The executioner led her up the rough steps and tied her to the pole around her waist. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a swan dip and loop mid-flight, and she smiled despite herself. Behind the swans rode Jonathon, his horse streaked with sweat. He jumped from the animal as soon as she slowed, racing to Isabelle. Her brothers reached her before him, though, and she flung the shirts at them one by one. As they flew into the shirts, they tumbled out of the sky as men. Alex was the last, and when she threw him the last shirt, he transformed back into himself, save for a wing where his left arm should have been. Isabelle wished furiously that she could have sewn in the last sleeve. Frederick, Samuel, Caleb, Phillip, Henry, and Alexander crowded around their sister, untying her, but Jonathon pushed them away and they jumped to the ground. He ran his hands over her shoulders, down her arms, and clasped her hands.  
“Isabelle! Are you alright?”  
She looked at her brothers, then back to Jon.  
“Yes,” she said clearly. “I love you so much.”  
“What – how can you –”  
“These are my brothers. They were under a wicked spell, and I could not talk if I wished to save them. But here we are. I can tell you now. Meine name is Isabelle Theresa Louise Margarethe, and I am the daughter of König Richard. This is my oldest brother, Crown Prince Frederick.”  
“Alright,” Jon said slowly.  
“I love you. Please don’t be mad because I didn’t tell you.”  
“No, no. You had to save your brothers.”  
Jonathon looked around, noticing at least two of Isabelle’s brothers doing the same. There was a sizeable crowd milling around the platform, and though most were too stunned by the appearance of the six men to do or say anything, some were not.  
“We need to get down from here,” Jon murmured.  
“No!” Adelaide shrieked, rushing from her shaded seat. “This creature must die! She’s a man-eater, and a witch! She turned swans into men with her black magic.”  
“Indeed not, Lady Adelaide,” Isabelle responded, her voice carrying across the square. “I did nothing but undo a most wicked spell they already had on them. These men are my brothers. We are the children of King Richard and Queen Theresa.”  
A murmur raced through the crowd, for even here, stories of the missing children had been circulated for some years.  
Adelaide whitened.  
“Lies.”  
“The only liar here is you! I am innocent of the crime you accuse me of – the crime that you framed me for!”  
“ _What_?”   
Isabelle turned to her husband, who looked at her in shock.  
“It was her. I remember her taking my daughter away.”   
Jonathon, his face red, jumped down from the platform and covered the distance to his mother in a few steps. Extending his arm, he slapped her hard. Adelaide recoiled and stumbled, landing hard on the ground.  
“Tell me why I shouldn’t have you burnt in her place!”  
“Jon, Jon, darling, please. I’ve only ever done what was best for you, my child.”  
“ _You tried to kill my wife_. And you have stolen our children from us, as well?”  
“I could not let you have such illegitimate children shaming our family!’  
“Isabelle is born of a house even older than ours. You will pay for your crimes. Guards, bind her.”  
“The King’s mother tried to kill the queen,” murmured the watching crowd.   
Adelaide shrunk away from the soldiers who clapped irons on her wrists.  
“Isabelle... please. Your children... they are alive and well. Please, forgive me. I could not hurt my son’s children. I will tell you where they are.”  
Alexander, who had been solemnly inspecting his remaining wing, nudged Phillip, who then prodded Frederick forward. He sighed and would not meet Isabelle’s eyes.  
“You cannot use that to buy yourself free, Lady Adelaide. My brothers and I know already where the children are.”  
Isabelle grabbed his sleeve.  
“Wie konntest du das wissen? Warum hast du mir nichts erzählt?"  
Taking her hand in both of his, Freddy kissed her fingers.  
“Wir wussten nichts davon bis kürzlich. Ich habe beschlossen, dass wir nicht eingreifen sollten. Es tut mir leid."  
Isabelle rubbed her forehead.  
“We can talk about this later. When did you learn to speak this language, anyway?”  
“When you married Jon, we decided.”  
While they spoke, Jonathon was discussing Lady Adelaide with the guards.  
“I don’t know what to do,” he admitted quietly.  
“The charge would be high treason, Sir. There’s usually only one sentence for that.”  
The king swallowed.  
“I know.” He looked at his wife, who glanced at him from inside her brothers’ embrace. There was no malice on her face, only relief. Tears streamed down her cheeks and she spoke in breathless hiccoughs in her native tongue, her brothers murmuring replies. Jon nodded slowly.  
“Do it.”  
The guard in charge turned to the King’s mother.  
“Lady Adelaide. You have freely admitted to kidnapping the princes and princess, and attempting to have the Queen killed. You will be charged with high treason.” Adelaide turned to her son.  
“You would really do this to your own mother?”  
He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to find certainty.  
“I find... you... You are...”  
“Jon, you don’t need to do this,” Isabelle interrupted softly, wiping her face. He spun to face her.  
“But what she did to you...”  
“I know. But this is not who you are. We will have our children. Let it go.”  
“I need to... she... she can’t – Belle, I am the _King_! She cannot do this to us and live. I... Isabelle.”  
“Listen, Frederick is going to take me to my children.”  
The king gripped his wife’s hands.  
“Please come back to me,” he begged. “Don’t leave me because of this.”  
“Jon. I love you. I just... I can’t...” she turned away, and Frederick led her away, three other brothers clearing the way. Two remained, and the elder turned to Jonathon.  
“Jonathon. I am your brother, Caleb. This is Henry. We will stay with you.”  
“Did Isabelle tell you to look after me?”  
“Yes,” Henry said frankly. “But we have seen you, when we watched over our sister. You are our brother, and we stand together.”  
“Thankyou.” He faced his mother squarely. Isabelle’s reaction told him what his choice must be.   
“You will answer for your crimes, but it will not be on my head. I wash my hands of you. You can plead to a judge for your life, not to me.”  
The Dowager Queen sagged in the grasp of guards.  
“Jon... my baby... remember your mother loves you.”  
“No. I do not believe you know what that means anymore.”   
Jonathon and his brothers-in-law spun on their heels and stalked away, hurrying after Isabelle. They ignored the insults and curses that had begun to be hurled at Lady Adelaide.

“What happened?” She asked him when he caught up to her.  
“Jail and court. After that, I don’t know.” Isabelle nodded, continuing to follow her brothers, but Jon held her shoulder gently to stop her.   
“What is it,” she asked, touching his cheek, when he said nothing.  
“You have... the most beautiful voice, that I have ever heard,” the king told her frankly. His wife smiled, tight-lipped, then stopped and brought a hand to her face.  
“I can even laugh,” she whispered. “Oh my goodness, Jon. I did it. It’s almost over! I – haha!” She laughed out loud with relief and joy, and Jonathon rejoiced in the sound, kissing her and laughing along with her. They found their children without incident, and discovered them to be high-spirited youngsters with little evidence of neglect. Their nursemaid, a servant girl barely more than a child herself, alone in the little house with three young children, wept when she realised who they were. At two years old, the eldest prince was curious and chatty, while his younger brother clung to their nurse, refusing to walk although his nursemaid assured his parents that he could. Isabelle took her daughter in her arms as soon as she could, and the infant quickly went back to sleep. Before the day was over, they had packed up the entirety of the little house to bring everything back to the palace. Carriages had been sent for, to convey the belongings as well as the queen and her children. Isabelle invited Alexander to ride with her.  
“Alex, I am so, so sorry. There may be something we can do, when we get back to–”  
“Belle, don’t. You did your best. I’ll... I’ll figure something out.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Practically finished. The last chapter isn't exactly an epilogue. Let's call it a coda.


	15. Chapter 15

Richard was perplexed by the letter he received from King Jonathon, Rumour had it that his mother had recently been assassinated by a vigilante after she plotted to kill the Queen and their children, but Richard knew better than to listen to rumour. News from Varne had never been regular or reliable. The letter the young king had sent was polite and well-written, but stated in no uncertain terms that he, his wife, their children, and a small accompaniment of men would be visiting him, arriving before the week was out.   
He muttered something to himself about young people having no respect for anything, and that his children would never be so presumptuous, but then lapsed into depressed silence. No-one came to comfort him, as his court had fallen into disrepair over the last few years. With a mournful King, merrymakers found elsewhere to be. All Richard had left were his family, and it was considerably smaller than it should have been. He had nieces and nephews aplenty, but they lived abroad, with his sisters, who he had only seen twice in the last six years. Arthur and Dionn spent more time with him, as did their two daughters, but their youngest was now engaged and would soon be leaving home. He felt sorry for Elizabeth, who refused to marry anyone but Samuel. At least he had enjoyed years with Theresa and his children – she was wasting away on only a promise.

When the kings met, Richard was pleasantly surprised by the young Jonathon’s humility. He had clearly practiced a little of the older man’s language, and apologised profusely for not knowing more.  
“May I be so blunt as to ask, King Jonathon, why are you here?”  
“Why I am here?” Jonathon repeated, to make sure he understood. Richard nodded.  
“Sir, I wanted you to meet my family.”  
“Yes?”  
“I would tell you how I met my wife, but, sorry, I do not know the words. She may tell it to you. My love,” he said, looking to the young woman in a hooded cloak. She stepped forward and began to speak, although she studied the floor rather than looking him in the face.  
“Dear King Richard, it fills my heart with joy to see you well. I met Jonathon almost six years ago. I had been tasked with removing a curse – a curse laid on my brothers, and by extension, myself, by our step-mother.”   
Richard interrupted bitterly.  
“My children, too, were cursed. It was my own doing, and now they are dead.”  
“Sir, you are mistaken,” she replied softly, pushing back her hood so that he could see her face. Shock paralysed Richard when he saw the spitting image of his beloved first wife in his daughter before him, and his mouth hung slackly.  
“I couldn’t... I couldn’t speak, Father, and when Jon taught me how to write his language, I still could not mention you or my brothers.”  
“They are alive?”  
“Sir, they are waiting outside.”  
Richard launched himself from his chair with such haste he nearly fell in his rush to the door. Yanking it open, he saw his sons waiting nervously. He cried out without words and clutched his children to him.  
“How... how is this...how are you here?”  
Samuel shrugged and gestured to their sister.  
“It’s entirely thanks to Isabelle.”   
The young queen embraced her father when he held his arms out to her, and they wept quietly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading x


End file.
